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LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO.,  Boston 


Mr.  Pavode  makes  a  few  remarks."    Page  12. 


THE 


POCKET-RIFLE 


BY 


J.    T.    TROWBRIDGE 


ILLUSTKATEE 


BOSTON: 

LOTHROP,    LEE    &    SHEPARD    CO. 


COPYRIGHT. 
1581, 

By   J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE, 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
I. 

Master  Cram's  School       .... 

PAGE 

9 

II. 

Lowmy  Pavode1s  "Idee"   . 

16 

III. 

Neighboring  Farms 

24 

IV. 

The  Two  Friends 

32 

V. 

On  the  Mountain  Crest    . 

42 

VI. 

Jim  Lath  brook 

46 

VII. 

Through  the  School-House  Window     . 

52 

VIII. 

Worth's  Deception 

60 

IX. 

Chase  Atway's  Strange  Conduct    . 

66 

X. 

Spelling  for  Places  .... 

72 

XI. 

The  Breach  widens    .... 

77 

XII. 

Mr.  Atway's  Advice  .... 

83 

XIII. 

Husking  the  Corn      .... 

88 

XIV. 

The  Race  Begins        . 

92 

XV. 

Neck  and  Neck 

98 

XVI. 

The  Prizes   ...... 

.      106 

XVII. 

The  Outburst      .... 

.      112 

XVIII. 

The  Cattle  make  Mischief 

.      120 

XIX. 

In  the  Sugar-Bush     .... 

.      126 

M520377 


i 

CONTENTS. 

XX. 

The  Pocket-Rifle  comes  in  Play        .      131 

XXI. 

Worth's  Revenge   . 

140 

XXII. 

Peace  or  War  ? 

146 

XXIII. 

War!        .... 

154 

XXIV. 

Another  Race 

.      161 

XXV. 

A  Short-Lived  Triumph 

.      172 

XXVI. 

A  Mandamus    . 

.      177 

XXVII. 

Beaten  again  . 

.      186 

XXVIII. 

Crossing  the  Intervale 

,      197 

XXIX. 

The  Flood 

.      203 

XXX. 

Catching  Driftwood 

,      211 

XXXI. 

In  the  Apple-Tree 

220 

XXXII. 

Lowmy  Pavode's  Boat  . 

,       230 

XXXIII. 

After  the  Rescue  . 

.       239 

XXXIV. 

"  Damon  and  Pythias  "  . 

.      244 

XXXV. 

Launching  the  Boulder 

.      254 

XXXVI. 
KXXVII. 

The  Ruined  Hut     . 
How  it  all  Ended 

.      264 
272 

THE  POCKET-RIFLE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

MASTER   CRAM'S    SCHOOL. 

IT  was  noon  by  Master  Cram's  watch. 
The  last  recitation  had  been  heard,  books  and 
slates  were  put  away,  and  the  dull  and  weary  faces 
about  the  school-room  brightened  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  a  speedy  dismissal. 

Master  Cram  turned  to  a  visitor  who  had  come  in 
an  hour  before.  "Mr.  Pavode,"  he  said,  "would 
you  like  to  make  a  few  remarks  ?  " 

A  smile  went  like  a  streak  of  sunshine  around  the 
room.  Only  one  of  the  older  pupils'  faces  remained 
serious.     It  was  that  of  the  visitor's  son,  Lem. 

Mr.  Lemuel  Pavode,  the  father,  sometimes  nick- 
named "  Lowmy  Pavode,"  was  a  new  member  of  the 
school-committee.  He  was  a  shrewd  and  thrifty 
farmer,  but  so  notoriously  illiterate  that  the  confer- 


10  THE    POCKET-PJFLE. 

ring  of  such  an  office  upon  him  had  passed  for  a 
good  joke. 

Everybody  knew  how  he  came  by  his  nickname. 
He  had  once  got  up  to  speak  in  town-meeting. 

"'Low  me,  Mr.  Moderator,  if  you'll  'low  me, — 
I'd  like  to  say  a  few  words,  if  you'll  'low  me,  Mr. 
Moderator, — if  you'll  'low  me,"  he  stammered; 
and  with  a  final  "  'Low  me,"  he  sat  down. 

Some  wag  changed  Lemuel  to  "  Lowmy  "  on  the 
spot ;  and  he  had  been  known  as  "  Lowmy  "  Pavode 
ever  since. 

It  was  the  knowledge  of  his  ignorance,  and  of  this 
anecdote  illustrating  it,  which  made  his  son  Lem 
look  anxious,  and  all  the  other  big  boys  and  girls 
smile,  when  the  new  committee-man  was  invited  to 
address  the  school. 

<f  Wal,"  said  he,  uncrossing  his  legs,  and  slowly 
rising  from  his  chair,  "if  you'll  'low  me." 

The  school  broke  into  a  titter.  Lem  turned  scar- 
let. He  was  an  honest,  sensitive  boy,  and  it  did 
seem  as  if  the  old  man  might  have  had  mercy  on 
him,  and  kept  still. 

But  the  new  committee-man  had  brought  to  his 
office  zeal  if  not  knowledge.  He  had  something  to 
say,  and  he  was  bound  to  say  it.  He  placed  his 
hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  stood  for  a 


MASTER   CRAM  S   SCHOOL, 


11 


moment  wrinkling  up  his  features  in  a  comical  gri- 
mace, and  trying  to  remember  the  speech  he  had 
thought  over  beforehand. 


"Wal,"  he  repeated,  "I  don't  seem  to  git  at  jest 
what  I  was  goin'  to  start  on.  But  I  guess  there's 
one  thing  the  boys  '11  understand.'' 

He  turned  to  his  overcoat,  which  was  hanging  on 
a  peg  behind  the  door,  thrust  his  hand  into  one  ot 
the  <Wo  pockets,  and  brought  out  a  thing  liKe  a  mV 


12  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

tol  with  a  slender  barrel  of  blue  steel,  perhaps  ten 
inches  long. 

"  See  that,  boys  ?"  he  said,  with  a  triumphant  grin, 
as  he  laid  it  on  the  master's  desk. 

He  thrust  in  his  hand  again  and  produced  a  light 
frame  of  bright  metal,  shaped  something  like  a  very 
irregular  triangle,  with  slightly  curved  sides  and  one 
open  end. 

M  See  that,  boys  ? "  he  repeated,  holding  it  up 
before  the  surprised  and  interested  school. 

"  Ye  may  giggle  at  my  'temp's  at  a  speech,"  he 
went  on,  his  tongue  becoming  loosened,  "  and  I  can't 
blame  ye.  I  ain't  much  of  a  speechify er.  Tell  ye 
the  reason  byme-by.  But  ye  don't  giggle  much  now, 
duye?" 

The  pupils  were  in  fact  too  much  excited  by  curi- 
osity and  astonishment  to  laugh  even  at  old  Lowmy 
Pavode's  odd  blunders. 

"  I  can't  put  my  words  together  very  well,  mabby, 
but  I  guess  I  can  put  this  and  that  together,  —  if 
you'll  'low  me." 

There  was  a  faint  revival  of  the  tittering.  But 
the  old  man  took  no  notice  of  it.  He  adjusted  the 
handle  of  the  tube  to  the  open  end  of  the  frame, 
fastening  it  with  a  screw. 

"Now,  when  it's  put  together,"  he  said,  *  I  needn't 


MASTER   CRAM'S    SCHOOL.  13 

tell  ye  what  it  is,  boys.     Who  can  name  the  crit- 
ter?" 

"  Pistol ! "  said  a  small  boy  down  in  front. 

"  Gun  !  "  said  a  larger  boy  behind  him. 

K  Kifle  !  rifle  !  "  chorused  three  or  four  on  the  rear 
seats. 

"  Wal,  ye  come  pooty  nigh  it,  some  on  ye,"  Mi. 
Pavode  smilingly  resumed,  well-pleased  with  the 
success  of  his  object-lesson.  K  What  do  you  say  it 
is,  you  boys  in  the  corner  there?  You  look  as  if 
you  knowed." 

The  "  boys  in  the  corner  there  "  were  Worth  Lank- 
ton  and  Qiase  Atway ;  and  two  very  noticeable  boys 
they  were.  Worth  was  the  dark-haired  one,  with 
the  high,  square  forehead  and  firm  features,  quite 
strong  and  resolute  for  those  of  a  boy  of  sixteen. 

He  was  in  the  corner.  The  boy  next  him  was 
Chase.  He  had  blue  eyes,  constantly  changing  with 
flashes  of  expression.  He  was  not  so  tall,  nor  so 
dignified,  nor  so  old  by  half  a  year  as  Worth ;  but 
handsomer  and  wittier. 

Different  as  they  were,  these  boys  were  intimate 
friends.  They  were  nearly  always  together,  out  of 
school  and  in.  They  helped  each  other  in  their 
studies ;  joined  in  the  same  sports,  hunting,  fishing, 
nutting,  or  ball-playing ;  and  often  "changed  work," 


14  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

as  they  called  it,  in  order  to  keep  on  the  same  side 
of  the  dividing-line  between  their  fathers'  farms. 

Now,  when  the  committee-man  addressed  his 
question  to  them,  they  acted  characteristically. 
Chase,  always  ready  to  defer  to  his  comrade,  gave 
him  a  sidelong  look  and  nod,  as  if  to  say,  "Go 
ahead,  and  tell  him." 

Worth  was  quite  as  modest  as  Chase ;  but  with 
his  strong  self-reliance  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
yield  place  to  anybody. 

"I  call  it  a  pocket-rifle,"  said  he  ;  "a  breech-load- 
ing, skeleton-breech  pocket-rifle." 

"That's  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Pavode,  approvingly. 
"The  'cutest  thing  !  Take  it  apart  and  you  can  carry 
it  in  your  pocket,  pervided  your  pocket  is  big 
enough.  Without  the  britch,  it  shutes  like  a  pistol. 
Clap  on  the  britch  and  it's  a  rifle,  and  you  can  shute 
a  squirrel  a  hundred  yards  off.  Or  you  can  shute 
a  deer  with  it,  pervided  agin  ye  go  where  there's 
deers  to  shute." 

Aware  of  interesting  his  audience,  the  man  who 
had  stammered  so  ludicrously  in  town- meeting, 
even  Lowmy  Pavode,  could  be  eloquent. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "I  want  ye  to  give  another 
guess.     What  ye  s'pose  I'm  goin'  to  du  with  it?" 

This  question  also  was  directed  towards  the 
corner. 


MASTER    CRAM'S    SCHOOL.  15 

Again  the  younger  boy  deferred  to  "Worth  the 
honor  of  answering.  But  Worth,  slow  and  serious, 
wasn't  ready.  Then  a  flash  of  fun  lighted  up  Chase 
Atway's  face,  as  he  replied,  "  Teach  the  young  idea 
how  to  shoot."  This  was  followed  by  a  burst  of 
genuine  laughter  from  the  school,  in  which  even 
Master  Cram  joined. 

Worth  gave  Chase  a  lively  nod  of  approval,  and  a 
look  in  which  sparkled  admiration  for  his  wit,  to- 
gether with  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say, 
"You  got  ahead  of  me  then;  I  wish  I  had  said 
that ! " 


16  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  n. 

LOWMY  PAVODE'S  "iDEE." 

MR.  PAYODE  took  the  laugh  as  evidence  of  the 
popularity  of  his  entertainment,  and  went  on,  — 
"  That's  my  idee,  edzac'ly  !  To  larn  yer  idees  how 
to  shute,  — if  you'll  'low  me,  Mr.  Cram." 

To  keep  down  the  titter  which  was  rising  again, 
and  also,  perhaps,  to  show  his  own  familiarity  with 
the  quotation  of  which  Chase  had  given  a  part,  Mr. 
Cram  gave  the  whole,  smilingly,  beating  time  to  the 
rhythm  with  his  ruler : 

"  i Delightful  task!  to  rear  the  tender  thought, 
To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot !  * 

Who  can  tell  me  where  those  lines  occur  ?  n 

Once  more  Chase  waited  for  Worth ;  and  Worth, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  replied,  — 

"  In  Pope's  *  Essay  on  Man.'  " 

Mr.  Cram  looked  satisfied ;  but  immediately  ap- 
pealed to  the  school, — . 

"Is  he  right?" 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  "  clamored  a  dozen  pupils  ;  though 
hardly  one  of  them  knew  anything  about  Pope. 


LOWMY  PAVODE'S    "iDEE."  17 

"Eight ! "  repeated  the  school-master,  glad  to  show 
off  his  first  class  to  the  committee-man. 

But  he  noticed  a  peculiar  smile  on  Chase  Atway's 
face  ;  and  he  knew  that  Chase  was  the  best-read  boy 
in  school. 

"You  don't  think  so,  Chase? "  he  asked. 

Chase  smiled,  shrugged,  and  lifted  his  knowing 
eyebrows.  But  he  did  not  like  to  take  away  from 
his  friend  the  honor  of  leading  off  in  this  little  liter- 
ary  discussion.     So  he  held  his  peace. 

M  You  don't  think  it  is  Pope's  f  Essay  on  Man  ? '  '* 

K  I  don't  think  it  is,"  replied  Chase,  with  a  look 
more  positive  than  his  words. 

"Well,  where  do  the  lines  occur?  " 

"  In  Thomson's  '  Seasons.'  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Worth,  with  a  quick  gesture  of  his 
forefinger.     "I'm  sure  it's  Pope." 

"  I'll  show  it  to  you  in  Thomson's  e  Seasons '  to- 
morrow," Chase  replied,  with  the  quiet  air  of  one 
who  knew. 

"  Thomson's  '  Seasons  9  is  in  blank  verse,"  argued 
Worth. 

"  The  lines  quoted  are  blank  verse,"  retorted 
Chase, 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  rhyme  is,"  said  Worth, 
warmly. 


18  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Mr.  Cram  wished  to  stop  them,  but  was  inclined 
to  take  Worth's  side  of  the  question.  Mr.  Pavode 
stood  holding  the  pocket-rifle,  which  had  started  the 
discussion,  waiting  for  it  to  cease,  and  wondering 
what  it  was  all  about. 

The  master  repeated  the  lines,  and  said  to  Chase, 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  thought  and  shoot  don't 
rhyme  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  meant  to  rhyme,  that  is  what  I  say. 
'  TJiought,  — shoot ! ' "  He  pronounced  the  first  word 
very  broad,  and  the  second  very  short.  "They 
don't  rhyme  at  all,  or  very  poorly." 

"  There  are  worse  rhymes  in  the  ? Essay  on  Man,'" 
said  Worth.  "Besides,  the  couplet  sounds  like  Pope." 

"  It  isn't  a  couplet,"  said  Chase. 

"Not  a  couplet?"  cried  Worth,  kindling  more  and 
more.  "  Any  two  lines  of  verse  are  a  couplet,  if 
they  belong  together." 

"  If  they  rhyme  ;  not  otherwise,"  said  Chase,  with 
a  light  laugh. 

"  That  will  do,  boys ! "  said  the  master,  tapping 
with  his  ruler  on  the  desk.  w  Mr.  Pavode  is  waiting  to 
go  on.    We'll  finish  this  discussion  some  other  time." 

"I'd  like  to  have  one  thing  decided  now,"  Worth 
insisted.  "He  says  a  couplet  must  have  its  two 
Ines  rhyme.     Is  that  so  ?  " 


LOWMY   PAVODE'S    "iDEE."  19 

w  Really — I — I  am  not  certain  of  that.  And  if 
Mr.  Pavode  will  kindly  excuse  me," 

Mr.  Cram  turned  to  a  dictionary  lying  on  his  desk. 

w  Sartin,  sartin  !  "  said  the  committee-man,  good- 
naturedly.  w  Settle  your  p'ints  of  larnin.'  What 
Tve  got  to  say  '11  keep." 

Mr.  Cram  read  aloud  from  the  book  of  definitions. 

w  '  Couplet.  Two  taken  together  ;  a  pair,  or 
couple ;  especially  two  lines  of  verse  that  rhyme 
with  each  other.' " 

Chase  laughed  again  ;  but  Worth  looked  stern. 

"I  think  we  shall  have  to  decide  that,  strictly 
speaking,  a  couplet  must  be  rhymed,  as  Chase  says," 
remarked  the  master. 

MI  don't  admit  it,"  Worth  declared,  "any  more 
than  I  admit" 

But  the  master  rapped  sharply  with  his  ruler,  cut- 
ting off  further  discussion. 

The  two  friends  often  had  animated  disputes  of 
this  sort;  for  Chase,  much  as  he  was  inclined  to 
defer  to  W^orth,  had  opinions  of  his  own,  and  was 
not  backward  in  expressing  them.  But  they  never 
really  quarrelled ;  and  when  the  heat  of  argument 
was  over,  they  were  as  good  friends  as  ever. 

Mr.  Pavode  was  now  invited  to  proceed. 

"Wal,  as  I  was  a-sayin',"  he  resumed.    "But,  fust 


20  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

place,  I  may  as  well  tell  ye  how  I  come  by  this  'ere 
trinket.  It's  nothin'  I  ever  thought  of  investin'  my 
money  in,  you  better  b'lieve. 

"  I  had  a  boarder  last  summer,  and  he  went  off 
without  settlin.'  But  he  left  a  few  things,  and  this 
among  'em ;  and  wrote  me  arterwards  't  if  I'd  take 
'em  towards  pay  in'  for  his  board,  'twas  'bout  the 
best  thing  he  could  du. 

"So  I  took  'em,  'cause  I  had  tu.  And  when  they 
done  me  the  honor  to  put  me  on  to  the  school-com- 
mittee, I  says  to  myself,  *  This  pocket-rifle  11  make 
things  lively  if  I  offer  it  to  the  boys  as  a  prize  !'" 

Mr.  Pavode  paused  with  the  broadest  kind  of  a 
smile  on  his  face,  to  enjoy  the  sensation  which  this 
announcement  made  in  the  school. 

Nobody  thought  of  laughing  at  him  now.  Every 
one,  especially  every  boy,  was  eager  to  know  on 
what  conditions  that  extraordinary  prize  was  to  be 
won. 

"My  boy,  there,"  Mr.  Pavode  went  on,  glancing 
at  Lem,  who  had  by  this  time  ceased  to  blush  for 
his  father,  "  he  wanted  me  to  give  it  to  him.  '  I  won't 
give  it  to  you,  nor  nobody,'  says  I ; <  but  I'll  give  ye  a 
chance  to  win  it.'  And  now  he  can  go  in  with  the 
rest  on  ye,  and  take  the  prize  if  he  can.  I  hope  he 
will,"  the  father  added,  with  a  broad  grin  at  the  son. 


lowmy  pavode's  "idee."  21 

w  And  what's  the  prize  to  be  for  ?  "  he  went  on.  w  I'll 
tell  ye  what  it's  to  be  for.  For  spellin.'  For 
spellin'  !  "  he  repeated,  emphatically.  "  Spellin'  is 
the  bottom  of  all  book-knowledge,  and  I'm  glad  to 
hear  this  school  has  got  up  a  fresh  interest  in't. 

"  I  never  was  much  of  a  speller  myself,  and  that's 
the  reason  I  never  could  make  a  speech.  To  know 
how  to  put  words  together  proper,  a  man  must 
know  how  to  put  the  letters  together  that  makes  the 
words. 

"  If  I'd  had  that  much  larnin'  licked  into  me  when 
I  was  a  boy,  I  might  be  a  speechifyin'  man  ;  I  might 
be  a  member  of  Congress,  jes'  's  like's  not.  Jes'  's 
easy  for  me  to've  been  a  member  o'  Congress  as  a 
member  of  the  school-committee,  if  I'd  only  knowed 
how  to  spell.     Am  I  right,  Mr.  Cram?" 

"  Spelling  is  certainly  a  very  essential  part  of  our 
education,"  the  master  observed. 

M  So  I  says  to  myself,  '  I'll  offer  this  'ere  prize  to 
be  computed  for  by  the  best  spellers.'  And  now  I 
put  it  into  Mr.  Cram's  hands  to  be  kep',  and  finally 
gi'n  to  the  best  speller,  whuther  it's  my  boy  or  an- 
other boy,  'cordin'  to  his  best  judgment." 

So  saying,  the  committee-man  formally  presented 
the  pocket-rifle  to  the  teacher,  who  was  a  little 
embarrassed  at  receiving  it.      He  had  never  handled 


22  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 

a  firearm  in  his  life,  and  did  not  see  clearly  the  wis- 
dom of  offering  such  a  prize. 

"  The  girls  !  nothing  for  the  girls  !  "  said  a  half- 
audible  voice  on  the  girls'  side  of  the  room. 

"  Girls  can  compute  jest  the  same  as  the  boys/' 
replied  the  committee-man. 

It  was  the  second  time  he  had  used  compute  for 
compete,  but  his  blunders  no  longer  excited  a  smile. 

w  Girls  can  win  the  prize,  and  then  swap  it  for 
suthin'  more  to  their  taste,  or  give  it  away,  jes'  's 
they  like,"  he  explained. 

Then  Master  Cram  felt  called  upon  to  make  a 
little  speech. 

"Since  Mr.  Pavode  has  taken  the  responsibility 
of  offering  this  truly  elegant  and  valuable,  though 
some  might  say,  dangerous,  prize,"  he  said,  "  I 
engage  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  execute  the  im- 
portant trust  with  impartiality.  Perhaps  we  can 
also  arrange  to  offer  a  second  prize  to  be  competed 
for  by  the  girls.  It  being  Saturday,  there  will  be 
no  school  this  afternoon ;  and  we  will  now  postpone 
the  subject  until  next  week." 

"If  you'll  'low  me,"  Mr.  Pavode  interposed.  "I 
was  goin'  for  to  say  that  any  of  the  boys  can  have  a 
chance  to  look  at  the  prize  arter  school  if  they're  so 
disposed." 


lowmy  pavode's  "idee."  23 

"Certainly,"   said  Mr.  Cram. 

Accordingly,  after  the  dismissal,  the  boys  flocked 
around  the  teacher's  desk,  handling,  or  watching 
others  handle,  the  wonderful  toy,  with  the  liveliest 
curiosity. 

"Here's  the  way  ye  slip  the  ca'tridges  in,"  said 
Mr.  Pavode,  showing  with  an  empty  shell  how  the 
barrel  was  loaded.  "  It  goes  back  with  a  snap,  this 
way  ;  and  ye're  ready  for  yer  game.  For  the  best 
speller,  remember ! " 

And  he  walked  off,  highly  satisfied  with  the  in- 
terest he  had  excited. 

"  There'll  be  spellin'  in  the  school  this  winter,  if 
never  before,  you  bet !  "  were  his  parting  words  to 
Master  Cram. 


24  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  m. 

NEIGHBORING  FARMS. 

"TTTHAT  are  you  going  to  do   this  afternoon T" 

*  f  Worth  said  to  Chase,  as  they  walked  home 
from  school  together. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  husk  corn,"  Chase  re- 
plied.    "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I've  got  those  russet  apples  to  pick." 

w  How  long  will  it  take  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  hours,  if  Tim  helps,"  said  Worth. 
"  Then  I  mean  to  go  a-hunting.  There  are  lots  of 
squirrels  and  partridges  in  the  woods  this  fall." 

"  1  think  pa'll  let  me  go  a-hunting,  if  you  do,"  said 
Chase.  "  Stop  at  our  house,  and  we'll  ask  him. 
And  I'll  tell  you  what !  Come  and  work  for  me  an 
hour,  husking  corn,  then  I'll  help  you  pick  the  apples. 
Pa  '11  agree  to  that,  I  know." 

Worth  readily  consented  to  this  plan.  The  two 
friends  had  never  been  on  better  terms.  Their  little 
dispute  in  school  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten  by 
both,  until  Chase,  as  they  entered  Mr.  Atway's 
door-yard,  said,  carelessly, — 


NEIGHBORING   FARMS.  25 

"  By  the  way !  come  into  the  house,  Worth,  and 
we'll  look  up  that  quotation/' 
"What  quotation?" 
"Why,  the  one  we  were  talking  about : 

1  To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot.' 

I've  got  a  copy  of  Thomson's  *  Seasons,'  and  I  think 
I  can  turn  right  to  it." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  replied  Worth  frankly.  "  When 
you  speak  so  positively  about  anything  in  a  book, 
you  are  sure  to  be  right.  You  are  the  reader !  I 
don't  know  what  made  me  say  that  line  was  Pope's." 

"It  was  very  natural,"  Chase  answered.  "It 
sounds  more  like  Pope  than  it  does  like  Thomson. 
And  you  had  Master  Cram  on  your  side." 

"  But  it  was  foolish  in  me  to  stick  to  it  as  I  did," 
said  Worth.  "  I  never  like  to  be  put  down,  you 
know.  Though  I  ought  to  be  willing  to  be  put 
down  by  you,  especially  when  you're  in  the  right." 

"Pshaw!"  Chase  replied,  with  a  modest  laugh 
and  blush.  "  I  had  no  idea  of  putting  you  down. 
I  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  for  the  world ;  and  you 
know  it,  Worth." 

"Of  course  I  do,"  cried  Worth  warmly.  "You 
are  a  most  generous  fellow  !  But  it  was  your  duty 
to  set  me  right,  when  you  knew  I  was  wrong." 


26  THE    POCKET-EIFLE. 

"And  when  the  whole  school  was  wrong1  with 
you,"  said  Chase,  in  a  glow  of  friendly  feeling. 
"  There's  pa  in  the  shed.     We'll  see  what  he  says." 

He  proposed  their  plans  for  the  afternoon.  Mr. 
Atway —  a  plain  farmer,  in  a  blue  frock,  and  an  old 
straw  hat  —  looked  up  at  the  two  boys  from  a  piece 
of  harness  he  was  mending.  Instead  of  answering 
directly,  he  said,  — 

"  What  makes  you  so  late  home  from  school  ?  " 

"  Just  as  we  were  to  be  dismissed,"  replied  Chase, 
"  our  new  school-committee-man  got  up  and  made  a 
speech." 

"  Not  Pavode  ?  "  Mr.  Atway  exclaimed. 

"  Lowmy  Pavode  ! "  laughed  Chase. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  very  short  speech,  if  it  was 
anything  like  the  one  he  made  in  town-meeting, ' 
said  his  father. 

w  On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  long  speech,  and  a  very 
interesting  speech;  wasn't  it,  Worth?" 

And  Chase  went  on  to  give  a  lively  account  of  the 
whole  affair. 

"  A  curious  sort  of  a  prize,  I  should  say,"  was  the 
farmer's  amused  comment.  "  A  pocket-rifle  !  I 
suppose  you  two  boys  will  compete  for  it  ? " 

"I  don't  know;  I  suppose  so.  I  haven't  thought 
as  far  as  that,"  said  Chase,  turning  to  his  friend. 


NEIGHBORING   FARMS.  27 

WI  shall,"  Worth  avowed,  promptly.  "And  of 
course  you  will,  if  I  do." 

"I  wouldn't,  if  I  was  sure  of  your  taking  it,"  said 
Chase.  "  But  if  you  should  miss  it,  /  should  like  to 
get  it,  of  course." 

"I  shall  get  it  if  I  can,"  Worth  replied,  quietly. 

"How  about  this  afternoon?"  Chase  pressed  his 
father  for  an  answer. 

"Well,  well,  do  as  you  please,"  replied  Mr.  At- 
way,  good-naturedly. 

"I  knew  he  would  say  that,"  Chase  observed,  as 
he  walked  away  with  Worth.     "  He  always  does." 

But  Worth  was  not   so  sure  of  what  his  father 

would  say. 

Mr.  Lankton  was  a  moody  sort  of  man ;  though 
sometimes  very  indulgent,  he  was  often  morose  and 
severe.  So  it  was  agreed  that  Chase  should  go  over, 
as  soon  as  he  got  his  dinner,  and  first  help  Worth 
pick  the  apples,  after  which  there  wasn't  much  doubt 
but  that  Worth  would  be  let  off. 

The  two  farms  adjoined,  as  I  have  said.  But  Mr. 
Lankton's  was  what  is  called  a  "  back-farm."  It  lay 
well  down  on  the  intervale  —  as  the  land  bordering  on 
the  river  was  called  — and  was  approached  by  a 
private  road,  or  lane,  half  a  mile  beyond  Mr.  At- 
way's  house. 


28  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 

Around  by  this  road,  Worth  would  have  had  a 
good  mile  and  a  half  to  walk  home.  But  a  well- 
trodden  path  across  the  two  farms  shortened  the 
distance  to  less  than  half  a  mile.  This  was  the  way 
frequented  by  the  boys.  Behind  Mr.  Atway's  barn 
was  a  short  lane ;  a  few  rods  beyond  this  was  the 
river,  crossed  by  a  rude  bridge.  Worth  passed  this, 
and  then  followed  the  stream  down  the  further  bank 
until  he  came  to  the  dividing-fence  between  the  two 
farms. 

It  was  beautiful,  level  meadow  all  the  way,  still 
green  with  short  grass,  though  it  was  now  October. 
Hilly  pastures  rose  beyond,  and  these  in  turn  were 
lost  on  a  wooded  mountain- side. 

All  up  and  down  the  western  margin  of  the  valley 
ran  the  range  of  mighty  hills,  with  bare  blue  peaks 
in  the  distance,  and  on  the  slopes  great  forests  that 
flamed  and  glowed  with  all  the  gorgeous  hues  of  an 
American  autumn,  under  the  midday  sun. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  valley  was  a  similar, 
but  more  broken  and  more  distant  range,  its  vast 
sunny  uplands  checkered  with  farms  and  spotted 
with  the  shadows  of  moving  clouds. 

In  the  midst  of  the  intervale  flowed  the  slow,  wind- 
ing river,  edged  with  alders  and  willows,  and  here 
and  there  a  thicket  festooned  with  wild  grapes.     The 


NEIGHBORING   FARMS. 


water  was  crystal  clear,  and  many  a  pool  showed  in 
its  cool  depths  large  suckers,  pickerel  and  trout, 
still  as  their  shadows  on  the  river-bottom  under  them. 
Beyond  the  meadow  was  an  orchard  near  the 
river-bank;  and  beyond  the  orchard  was  the  old, 
brown,  lonely  farm-house,  which  Worth  called 
home.  It  stood  on  a  slight  elevation  of  ground, 
almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  stream.  Still 
beyond  it  was  the  private  road  by  which  it  was  ap- 
proached ;  crossing  a  bridge,  turning  off  to  the  main 
road,  between  broken  stone-walls  and  rows  of 
meadow  elms. 

Mr.  Lankton  was  not  so  neat  a  farmer  as  his 
neighbor  Atway.  His  fences  were  not  so  well  kept 
up,  and  his  weather-beaten  house  stood  sadly  in 
need  of  a  fresh  coat  of  paint.  You  could  hardly 
have  told  what  color  the  last  coat  had  been,  it  was 
so  worn,  and  the  clapboards  were  so  furred  by  long 
exposure  to  the  storms  that  swept  the  valley. 

The  warped  and  blackened  shingles  on  the  patched 
roof,  the  still  more  dilapidated  barn  and  stable,  and 
the  sagging,  half-shut  gates  added  to  the  desolate 
loneliness  of  the  picture.  The  house  was  not  very 
neat  within,  either.  The  rooms  were  rather  bare  and 
comfortless.  How  different  from  Chase  Atway's 
well-kept,  pleasant  home  ! 


30  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

To  the  proud  and  ambitious  Worth  this  state  of 
things  was  galling  enough.  But  he  was  used  to  it, 
and  made  the  best  of  it,  as  a  general  thing ;  though 
this- was  perhaps  partly  the  cause  that  he,  like  his 
father,  was  sometimes  subject  to  fits  of  gloom. 

One  of  these  fits  came  over  him,  when,  from  the 
scene  of  wonderful  outdoor  beauty  through  which 
he  had  just  passed,  he  entered  the  house,  and  sat 
down  with  his  brother  and  sister,  who  had  got 
home  from  school  before  him,  at  a  table  from 
which  the  other  members  of  the  family  had  already 
risen. 

Worth  looked  sullenly  up  and  down  the  univiting 
board,  from  under  his  frowning  brows,  and  then  ate 
his  dinner  in  silence.  Tim  and  Lucy  laughed  and 
prattled,  but  the  older  brother  never  uttered  a  word. 
Mrs.  Lankton,  accustomed  to  these  moods  in  her 
husband  and  son,  waited  upon  him  with  her  usual 
patience.  She  was  a  feeble,  overworked  farmer's- 
wife  ;  and  it  was  not  perhaps  her  fault  that  she  made 
so  unattractive  a  home. 

Once  more  in  the  open  air  after  dinner,  with  a 
pleasant  task  before  him,  in  the  fine  October  weather, 
Worth  felt  better. 

His  father  met  him  and  asked,  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  now  ?  " 


NEIGHBORING   FARMS.  31 

w  I  am  going  to  pick  those  russets  ;  Chase  is  com- 
ing over  to  help  me,"  Worth  replied. 

K  Can't  you  do  a  little  stroke  of  work  like  that, 
without  Chase  ?  "  Mr.  Lankton  asked. 

But  he  was  in  rather  an  amiable  mood ;  so  Worth 
ventured  to  rejoin,  — 

"  We  can  work  a  great  deal  faster  together.  I 
suppose,  after  the  apples  are  picked,  I  can  go  over 
and  help  him,  and  have  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to 
myself?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  rather  glum  reply. 

And  Worth,  calling  Tim  to  his  assistance,  went  to 
the  shed  for  baskets. 


32  THE   POCKET-KITLE. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  TWO  FRIENDS. 

THE  russet-tree  was  on  the  edge  of  the  orchard, 
near  the  river.  They  were  carrying  ladders  to 
it  when  Chase  arrived. 

"It's  all  right;  I've  spoken  to  him,"  said  Worth. 
And  the  boys  gleefully  began  their  stint. 

It  was  a  golden  day.  It  was  happiness  merely  to 
be  in  the  orchard  on  such  an  afternoon.  The  lad- 
ders were  set  up  against  the  tree,  and  the  boys 
chatted  and  laughed  as  they  picked. 

The  boughs  rustled,  the  apples  dropped  into  the 
baskets,  and  the  baskets,  when  filled,  were  let  down 
by  reins  taken  from  the  harness,  to  Tim,  below,  who 
emptied  them  into  a  growing,  glowing  heap  on  the 
ground.  Close  by  flowed  the  river,  with  flashing 
ripples  and  pleasant  murmurs. 

"  Some  kinds  of  farm-work  are  nice  enough,"  said 
Chase  from  his  ladder. 

"  Yes ;  if  there  was  nothing  worse  than  picking 
russets  on  a  day  like  this,"  Worth  replied.  "  But  I 
am  not  going  to  stay  on  a  farm  always,  —  not  on  this 
farm!" 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS. 


33 


w  I  hate  to  hear  you  say  that,"  Chase  replied. 

"Why,  do  you  like  a  farm  so  well?"  cried  Worth. 

Now  Chase  knew  that  his  own  home-life  was  far 
pleasant er  than  Worth's.  And  it  was  no  doubt  for 
this  reason  that  he  liked  the  farm  better. 

But  he  was  careful  not  to  hurt  his  friend  even  by 
a  hint  of  the  truth.  So  he  said,  "I  wasn't  thinking 
of  that.  If  you  leave  the  farm,  we  shan't  probably 
be  together  as  we  are  now." 

w  I  don't  suppose  we  can  always  be  together,  any 
way,"  Worth  replied.  "We  shall  have  to  make  up 
our  minds  to  that,  some  time." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it ! "  Chase  exclaimed. 
"  If  you  go  away,  I  shall  go  too  !  " 

"  Hallo,  up  there  I  "  cried  Tim  from  below.  "  You 
are  dropping  the  apples  !  " 

Chase's  eyes  had,  in  fact,  suddenly  grown  dim, 
and  the  touch  of  his  hand  uncertain.  He  was  so 
bound  up  in  his  friend  that  the  mere  thought  of  their 
separation  affected  him. 

Wxas  the  love  he  received  as  strong  as  the  love  he 
gave?  He  never  stopped  to  ask.  It  was  enough 
for  him  to  be  with  Worth,  and  to  lavish  his  friend- 
ship upon  him,  without  thinking  of  any  return. 

After  all  the  apples  had  been  picked  which  could 
be  reached  from  the  ladders,  they  had  to  climb  about 


34 


THE    POCKET-RITLE. 


on  the  limbs  into  the  very  tops  of  the  trees,  to  get 
the  scattering  ones  that  remained.  It  was  a  longer 
job  than  they  had  anticipated. 


"Now,  if  we  husk  corn  for  an  hour,"  said  Chase, 
"  we  shan't  have  any  time  for  hunting." 

w  And  I  owe  you  nearly  two  hours'  work,"  replied 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS.  35 

Worth.  M  But  your  father  is  in  no  hurry  about  the 
corn?" 

"  No  ;  it's  in  the  barn,  waiting ;  a  little  in  the  way, 
that's  all." 

"  We  can  husk  that,  evenings.  I'll  come  over  and 
help  you  next  week." 

"  That  '11  be  fun  ! "  cried  Chase,  "  if  pa  will  only 
agree  to  it.  I'll  hurry  home  and  ask  him,  and  get 
my  gun,  while  you  are  clearing  up  here." 

Mr.  Atway  agreed  to  it,  as  the  boys  knew  very 
well  he  would.  Worth  watched  between  the  orch- 
ard and  the  river  until  he  saw  Chase  coming  down 
the  valley  with  something  that  looked  like  a  gun, 
then  got  his  own,  and  met  him  in  the  meadow. 
Then  happy  enough  they  were,  as  they  started  for 
the  uplands  and  the  wooded  mountain-sides. 

"  I  wish  I  had  that  pocket-rifle  in  place  of  this  old 
shot-gun !  Couldn't  I  pick  off  the  squirrels  from 
the  tall  trees?"  said  Chase. 

K  Maybe  you  will  have  it  some  day,"  Worth  re- 
plied.    "I  hope  so." 

He  was  in  his  most  genial  mood.  He  was  never 
so  enthusiastic  or  impulsive  as  Chase  in  expressing 
his  friendship ;  but  he  had  a  deep,  full,  hearty  way 
of  speaking. 

"You  need  it  more  than  I  do,"  Chase  said,  his 


36  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

own  "  old  shot-gun "  being,  after  all,  much  newer 
and  better  than  Worth's;  "and  I  hope  you  will 
get  it." 

"  I  think  you  are  the  best  speller ;  I  think  you  are 
the  best  speller  in  school,"  said  Worth. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Chase,  with 
a  light  laugh.  "  Any  way,  you  can  beat  me  if  you 
try.  You  can  beat  me  at  anything  you  really  put 
your  mind  to." 

"I  wish  I  could!"  Worth  exclaimed.  "But  I 
have  to  study  hard  for  some  things  that  come  natural 
to  you.  How  absurd  to  offer  the  prize  for  spelling  ! 
If  it  had  been  algebra,  now  !  " 

"Yes,  you  can  beat  me,  you  can  beat  the  crowd 
in  algebra,"  said  Chase. 

"Hallo  !  "  suddenly  spoke  up  Worth.  "There  are 
your  horses  on  our  side  of  the  fence." 

"  It  isn't  the  first  time,  confound  'em ! "  said 
Chase.  "We  try  to  keep  'em  in  our  pasture,  but 
they  will  get  over." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Worth;  "but  father  gets  a 
little  provoked  sometimes.  He  says  he  should  think 
your  father  might  keep  his  creatures  at  home." 

Chase  was  slightly  nettled.  "  I  think  your  father 
is  a  little  unreasonable,"  he  replied. 

"  How  so  ?  "  demanded  Worth. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 


37 


"Well,  it  isn't  a  very  pleasant  subject,"  said 
Chase ;  "  but  my  father  says  that  if  your  father 
would  keep  up  his  fences,  there  would  be  no  trouble 
about  the  horses." 


Worth  retorted  promptly.  "  My  father  says  that 
old  Whiteface  of  yours  will  throw  down  and  get 
over  any  sort  of  a  fence." 


38  THE    POCKET-KIFLB. 

"  He  doesn't  throw  down  and  get  over  ours,*  said 
Chase.  "  Look  here  !  there's  the  fence  between  our 
pasture  and  our  meadow ;  green  grass  on  one  side, 
and  plaguy  dry,  poor  grass  on  the  other.  But  he 
never  gets  over  that  fence." 

"  It's  staked  and  ridered,"  said  Worth. 

"Just  as  every  decent  fence  ought  to  be,"  re- 
turned Chase. 

"  You  can  stake  and  rider  your  fences ;  we  can 
take  care  of  our  own,"  Worth  answered  coldly. 

"Now  see  here,  Worth,  I  haven't  meant  to  say 
anything  to  hurt  you.  It's  a  matter  you  and  I  can't 
help  ;  it's  all  right  between  us" 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Worth.  "  I  don't  care  if 
four  horses  are  in  our  meadow.  Leave  'em 
ihere." 

"  But  I  care,  and  I  shan't  leave  'em  there  !  "  Chase 
declared.  "  You  see  how  it  is.  They  never  get  over 
our  part  of  the  boundary  fence.  If  your  part  was 
only  half  as  good,  there  never  would  be  any  trouble, 
as  pa  says." 

"  I've  had  to  stand  between  my  father  and  yours 
in  the  matter  of  those  jumping  horses  more  than 
once,"  replied  Worth. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  it.  And  I've 
stopped  my  father  from  sending  a  pretty  sharp  mes- 


THE    TWO   FKIENDS.  39 

sage  to  yours  about  the  fences,"  Chase  felt  compelled 
to  answer. 

"  Don't  do  it  again  ;  let  the  sharp  messages  come," 
said  Worth,  haughtily.  "  We  can  hold  our  own,  I 
guess." 

"  The  best  way  to  hold  your  own  is  to  "  —  Chase 
began  hotly,  but  checked  himself. 

w  To  what  ?     Out  with  it !  "  said  Worth. 

"I  was  going  to  say,  to  take  care  of  your  fences. 
But  this  begins  to  look  too  much  like  a  quarrel,  and 
there's  no  need  of  it." 

"  No  need  of  it  at  all,"  said  Worth,  but  in  the  same 
cold  and  haughty  tone. 

"  I  couldn't  quarrel  with  you  ;  it  would  break  my 
heart !  "  said  Chase.  "  But  you  think  I  said  more 
than  I  ought  to  about  your  fences.  You  say  they 
are  good  enough." 

Worth  made  no  answer,  but  his  eye  was  suffused, 
and  his  lip  quivered. 

K  Now  let  me  ask  you  one  question.  I  know  you 
will  answer  it  truthfully,  for  you  are  truth  itself. 
Your  horses  are  not  quite  so  enterprising  as  ours, 
I  confess.  But  do  they  never  get  over  your 
fences  ?  " 

"Yes,  lots  of  times  ! "  exclaimed  Worth,  in  a  sort 
of  suppressed  fury.      "Our  fences   are  mean  and 


40  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

poverty-stricken,  and  that's  a  fact !  So  is  about 
everything  on  our  place,  and  I  am  sick  of  it !  " 

"  O  Worth  !  I  am  sorry  I  have  made  you  feel 
so  !  "  Chase  exclaimed. 

"  Tisn't  your  fault,"  said  Worth.  "  The  fault's  in 
the  state  of  things.  I  try  to  have  things  different ; 
but  it's  no  use.  I  sometimes  think  I'd  like  to  sweep 
fences,  old  barns,  old  gates,  everything,  into  the 
creek,  and  then  go  in  myself!  " 

M  Don't  feel  like  that,  such  a  day  as  this  !  "  Chase 
implored.  "  Just  as  we  are  starting  off  to  have  a 
good  time  ! " 

Worth  made  no  reply.  He  helped  Chase  get  the 
horses  back,  and  put  up  the  tumbled  rails  after  them. 
Then,  as  they  took  up  their  guns  and  started  again 
for  the  woods,  he  suddenly  broke  forth,  — 

"No,  Chase,  you  and  I  can't  quarrel.  But  I 
couldn't  so  easily  forgive  anybody  else." 

"  Forgive  ?     For  Avhat  ?  "  said  Chase,  wonderingly. 

"For  beating  me  twice  to-day." 

"  Beating  you  !     In  what  ?  " 

"First  before  the  whole  school;  and  just  now 
in  the  dispute  about  the  fences.  You  were  right, 
and  I  was  wrong,  but  you  know  how  I  hate  to  be 
beaten!" 

Chase  did  not  like  to  hear  his  friend  talk  in  that 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS.  41 

way.     It  showed  a  feeling  in  him  which  made  them 
both  uncomfortable,  and  might  prove  dangerous. 

"  But  I  can  get  along  with  it ;  I  won't  mind  !  "  he 
said  to  himself,  little  dreaming  what  events  were 
soon  to  happen,  or  under  what  strange  and  terrible 
circumstances  they  were  destined  to  meet  before  long 
in  that  valley,  even  in  the  very  apple-tree  where 
they  had  that  afternoon  been  so  happy. 


42  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON   THE   MOUNTAIN   CREST. 

ON  a  bare  crest  of  the  mountain  was  poised  an  im- 
mense boulder ;  and  on  the  sunny  side  of  that 
elephantine  rock  —  for  the  October  air  was  cold  up 
there — lay  stretched  a  man  that  afternoon. 

He  was  a  slim,  slouching,  lazy-looking  fellow,  but 
with  a  certain  look  of  shrewdness  and  alertness  in 
his  narrow  gray  eyes.  He  seemed  to  be  watching 
something  below. 

A  marvellous  landscape  was  spread  out  before  him ; 
the  entire  valley  extending  for  many  miles  up  and 
down,  and  bounded  by  the  farm-cnecKered  uplands 
and  cloud-spotted  slopes  of  the  opposite  range  of 
hills. 

Through  the  midst  of  the  valley  wound  the  river 
like  a  silver  snake.  Where  it  could  not  be  seen,  its 
way  was  still  marked  by  the  bushes  that  fringed  its 
banks. 

The  fences,  the  roads,  the  slow-moving  wagons, 
the  farm-houses,  even  the  villages  far  away,  were  all 
in  miniature,  viewed  from  that  distance   and   that 


ON   THE   MOUNTAIN   CKEST.  43 

height.     It   seemed   to  be  a  region  in  which   only 
fairies  lived  and  drove  their  fairy  teams. 

But  the  man  was  not  watching  far-off  objects. 
What  attracted  his  attention  was  near  by. 

The  great  rock  lay  so  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
crest,  or  rather  shelf,  of  the  mountain,  — for  the  real 
crest  was  a  long  way  farther  back,  — that,  seen  from 
below,  it  seemed  to  hang  upon  its  very  verge. 

Within  twenty  feet  of  it  was  a  cliff,  to  which  the 
ground  sloped  rapidly.  The  face  of  the  cliff  was 
overgrown  with  thickets,  which  extended  down  the 
mountain-side  until  they  became  merged  in  the  great 
forests  below. 

"  There  it  is  !  "  he  said,  with  a  twitch  of  one  side 

of  his  face,  and  a  blink  of  the  eye,  as  the  report  of  a 

gun  sounded  from  the  woods.  "  And  there's  another ! " 

The  second  report  made  him  wink  again,  and  rise 

up  on  his  elbow. 

"  It's  all  for  a  squirrel  or  two,"  he  muttered.  "No- 
body would  ever  think  of  coming  up  so  fur  into  the 
woods  if  'twan't  for  the  squirrels.  There  'tis  agin  ! 
Wonder  what  Sal  thinks  of  that !  " 

He  got  up  farther  still,  and  sat  leaning  against  the 
rock,  with  the  sunshine  on  his  back,  and  his  shadow, 
with  that  of  the  boulder,  projected  far  over  the 
thickets  upon  the  forest-tops  beyond. 


44  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

He  seemed  to  be  tracing  the  course  of  the  hunters 
—  for  there  were  evidently  two  of  them  —  by  the 
sound  of  their  guns. 

"  Bang  agin  ! '  he  said,  after  waiting  a  few  min- 
utes longer.  "That's  better.  If  they'll  only  keep 
in  that  direction  !  But  I  guess  Sal's  been  shakin'  in 
her  shoes." 

He  was  startled  by  a  sudden  rustling  in  the  thick- 
ets under  the  crest.  The  sounds  approached,  — 
twigs  crackling  and  boughs  shaking,  —  while  he 
looked  eagerly  to  see  who  was  climbing  the  cliif. 

Presently  the  head  of  a  woman  came  out  of  the 
thickets,  and  appeared  over  the  edge  of  the  crag,  a 
few  rods  off.  The  head  wore  a  sort  of  loose  hood ; 
and  an  untidy,  tattered  gown  quickly  followed,  as 
the  woman  crept  on  all-fours  up  the  short  slope  from 
the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

The  man  gave  a  whistle.  She  stopped,  rose  upon 
her  feet,  and  seeing  him  seated  by  the  rock,  hurried 
towards  him. 

"  You  heard  'em  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  frightened  face. 

"Yes,  I  heard  'em,"  he  replied.     "What  of  it?  " 

"  I  thought  they  was  comin'  right  there  !  "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  What  would  they  be  comin'  there  for  ?  "  said  the 
man.     "  No  danger.     Hear  that !  " 


ON   THE   MOUNTAIN   CREST.  45 

There  was  another  gun-shot.  But  it  was  in  a 
direction  that  caused  him  no  alarm. 

K  You  jest  clear  out  and  go  home  ! "  he  said.  "  111 
stay  here  a  spell,  and  see  if  anything  happens." 

After  the  woman  had  gone,  he  heard  no  more  re- 
ports. Farther  and  farther  the  mountain  shadows 
crept  over  the  wooded  slopes.  He  stretched  himself 
out  once  more  beside  the  rock  and  waited. 

All  at  once  he  heard  voices.  Two  boys,  with  guns 
and  game-bags,  were  coming  along  the  verge  of  the 
crest,  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  rock. 

It  was  Chase  Atway  and  Worth  Lankton,  who  had 
come  up  through  the  woods,  and  climbed  to  that 
height  by  an  easier  ascent  than  the  thicket-covered 
cliff. 

w  Let's  sit  down  here  by  the  big  rock,"  said  Chase, 
"  and  see  what  we've  got." 

"Get  on  the  sheltered  side,"  said  Worth.  "The 
wind  blows  up  here  —  Hallo  ! " 

He  had  suddenly  stumbled  over  a  sleeping  man. 

At  least,  the  man  seemed  to  be  asleep.  But  at 
the  boy's  "Hallo,"  he  rose  languidly  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, winked  his  left  eye  hard,  with  a  twitch  of  all 
that  side  of  his  face,  and  gave  the  new-comers  a  nod 
of  recognition. 


46 


THE  POCKET-KIFLE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JIM     LATHBEOOK, 


*  TIM  Lathbrook  ! "  said  Chase,  reaching  Worth's 
*J    side.     "  How  are  ye,  Jim?  " 
"Perty  comf 'table,   I   guess,"  the  man  replied, 
good-naturedly.     "  How's  Damon  and  Pythias  ?  " 


"That's  what  you  always  call  us,"  said  Chase. 
*  That's  what  everybody  calls  you,"  replied  the 
man. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  tell  why." 


JIM   LATHBROOK.  47 

"  Why  ?  because  you  are  always  together ;  that  i& 
why." 

"Yes,"  said  Chase;  "but  why  Damon  and 
Pythias?" 

"You've  ruther  got  me  there,"  Lathbrook  admit- 
ted, with  a  smile  rendered  vivacious  by  another  jerk 
and  twitch  of  the  cheek.  "  But  I  'xpect  Damon  and 
Pythias  must  'a'  been  chums, — a  couple  o'  coves 
that  was  always  together,  like  you  be." 

"  I'll  tell  you  who  they  were,"  Chase  replied. 

He  leaned  his  gun  against  the  rock,  and  sat  down 
beside  his  game-bag.  Worth  remained  standing,  and 
listening.  Then  Chase,  in  a  few  words,  related  the 
beautiful  and  touching  story  of  that  ancient  friend- 
ship which  has  made  the  names  of  Damon  and 
Pythias  immortal. 

Worth  looked  down  with  a  pleased  and  tender 
smile,  at  his  comrade's  enthusiasm;  while  Lath- 
brook's  face  twitched. 

"It's  a  perty  story,"  the  latter  said,  "but  it's  all 
bosh." 

"  What !  You  don't  believe  in  such  friendship  ?  " 
cried  Chase. 

"Not  much,"  said  Lathbrook.  "Friends  is  all 
very  well  as  long  as  things  go  smooth.  But  they  will 
eat  each  other,  when  there's  nothing  else  to  eat." 


48  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 

"  You're  a  moral  monster,  Jim  Lathbrook !  " 
Chase  declared. 

"  Nobody  ever  called  me  anything  moral  before  ! " 
And  Jim's  features  laughed  and  twitched.  "  I'm 
much  obleeged  to  ye !  But  it's  jest  as  I  tell  ye. 
Friends  pull  together  jest  as  long  as  it's  for  their 
interest  to,  then  they  break.  You'll  find  it  so.  I 
shouldn't  be  the  least  mite  surprised  to  see  you  two 
fellers  dead-set  agin  each  other,  let  somethin'  hap- 
pen that  makes  your  interests  conflict,  I  tell  ye ! " 
And  the  narrow  gray  eyes  sparkled. 

w  You  simply  show  what  sort  of  a  man  you  are, 
when  you  say  that,"  Chase  replied.  "  What  are  you 
doing  this  fall?" 

"  I'm  kinder  lookin'  around  for  a  job,  jest  now," 
replied  Lathbrook,  dryly,  with  a  wink  and  a 
twitch. 

"You're  always  looking  for  a  job,  but  I  can't 
remember  when  you've  ever  found  one,"  said  Chase. 

"  Wal !  I  manage  to  live  ;  and  I  don't  kill  myself 
with  work,  nuther,"  drawled  the  man.  "  I  don't  see 
no  use  in  that.  Guess  I  must  be  movin'  towards 
home."     And  he  got  upon  his  feet. 

"  Where  is  your  home  ?  "  Worth  inquired. 

"Jest  over  the  mountain,  here,"  said  Lathbrook, 
walking  lazily  away. 


J tlH   LATHBROOK.  49 

"  How  does  he  manage  to  live,  do  you  suppose  ?" 
queried  Chase,  looking  after  him. 

"His  wife  goes  out  washing,"  said  Worth. 

"  Not  much,  I  fancy.  My  mother  had  her  once  ; 
and  she  declared  she  never  would  have  her  in  the 
house  again.  How  a  man  who  looks  for  a  job  from 
the  sheltered  side  of  a  rock  on  the  top  of  a  mountain, 
and  whose  wife  does,  maybe,  one  day's  work  a 
month  —  how  he  can  keep  the  pot  boiling,"  said 
Chase,  "  is  a  mystery  !  " 

"  This  is  a  good  place  to  be  looking  for  a  job,  after 
all !  "  said  Worth,  seating  himself.  "What  a  mag- 
nificent view  !  The  farms  down  there  are  lovely — 
only  get  far  enough  away  from  them." 

"  There  are  our  horses  on  your  side  of  the  fence 
again  !"  exclaimed  Chase.  "I'll  see  that  old  White- 
face  has  a  hamper  on,  next  time  he's  turned  into  the 
pasture." 

The  boys  now  overhauled  their  game-bags,  and 
recounted  their  adventures  in  the  woods.  They  had 
partridges  and  squirrels,  and  also  a  few  quarts  of  nuts. 

"  There  was  one  superb  gray  squirrel  that  I  might 
have  got  just  as  well  as  not,  if  I'd  only  had  that  pocket- 
rifle,"  said  Chase.  M  He  was  in  the  very  top  of  one  of 
the  tallest  trees,  where  my  shot  wouldn't  reach  him." 

w  Mr.  Pavode's  boarder  used  to  pick  off  squirrels 


50  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

with  it,  at  long  distances,"  said  Worth.  "You've 
beat  me  again  ! "  he  added,  seeing  that  Chase  had 
one  partridge  and  two  squirrels  more  than  he 
had. 

"  There's  no  beat  about  it,"  replied  Chase.  "  I  was 
lucky,  that's  all.  And  we're  going  to  divide  equally, 
as  we  always  do,  you  know." 

"No,  we're  not !"  cried  Worth.  "Any  way,  not 
now ;  we  may  shoot  something  more  as  we  go  down 
through  the  woods." 

"What  a  curious  rock  this  is,"  said  Chase,  as  they 
were  getting  ready  to  start.  "  Did  you  ever 
notice  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  many  times  !  How  strange  that  such  a  big 
rock  should  be  dropped  right  here  on  the  top  of  a 
mountain  ! " 

"  And  see  how  it  is  poised  !  I  believe  it  wouldn't 
take  much  to  give  it  a  tip  and  tumble  it  off  down  the 
mountain-side  ! " 

"  What  a  crashing  it  would  make  !  "    said  Worth. 

He  looked  down  into  the  thickets,  then  walked 
about  the  stone. 

"With  a  good,  long,  stiff  lever,"  said  Chase,  "you 
and  I  could  start  it.    If  1  had  a  hatchet  to  cut  a  pole  ! " 

"  Or  if  we  had  a  rail  handy  !  "  said  Worth.  "  I 
should  like  to  see  it  go." 


JIM   LATHBROOK.  51 

"Wouldn't  it  be  fun?"  exclaimed  Chase,  growing 
excited,  and  looking  around  for  a  fence. 

There  was  none  in  sight ;  and  after  talking  over 
the  matter  a  little  while,  Worth  suggested,  — 

"  Let's  leave  it  till  some  other  time,  when  we'll  bring 
some  fellows  with  us,  and  have  great  sport." 

"  I'm  sure  we  can  do  it !  "  said  Chase,  consenting. 
"  We'll  launch  it  like  a  young  planet.  What  a  fur- 
row it  will  plough,  though,  down  into  the  woods ! 
It  will  take  the  biggest  trees,  and  a  good  many  of 
them,  to  stop  it." 

"  There's  Lathbrook,  now,"  said  Worth.  "  He  is 
watching  us ;  he  has  been  watching  us  all  the  time." 


52  THE   POCKET-RIFLE, 


CHAPTER  VXL 

THROUGH  THE   SCHOOL-HOUSE   WINDOW. 

THE  boys  saw  but  one  squirrel,  on  their  way  down 
through  the  woods.  It  bounded  across  the  new- 
fallen,  rustling  leaves,  — with  which  the  forest  floor 
was  gayly  paved,  giving  the  effect  of  sunshine  after 
the  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  mountain, —  and 
sprang  to  the  stem  of  a  sturdy  maple. 

Chase,  who  was  a  little  ahead,  and  might  have  had 
a  good  shot,  fell  back,  to  give  his  friend  a  chance. 
"  It's  the  same  fellow  I  saw ;  isn't  he  a  big  one ! 
Now  is  your  time  !  "  he  said. 

Worth  drew  up  just  as  the  squirrel  ran  around 
the  trunk.  Both  boys  hurried  forward.  "  You'll 
see  him  in  a  second  ;  wait  there  !  "  said  Chase,  and 
sprang  to  the  farther  side  of  the  maple. 

The  squirrel  was  near  the  great  branching  limbs, 
when,  seeing  Chase,  he  curved  his  course  swiftly  to 
the  opposite  side.     That  gave  Worth  a  chance. 

He  fired,  but  missed  his  aim.  As  the  smoke  of 
his  gun  cleared  away,  he  saw  the  squirrel  darting  up 
one  of  the  great  limbs. 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL-HOUSE    WINDOW.  5^ 

Then  a  second  loud  report  rang  through  the 
woods,  and  the  squirrel  came  heavily  to  the  ground. 
It  was  Chase  who  had  fired  at  the  last  moment,  and 
brought  down  the  game. 

"How  could  you  miss  him?  You  had  such  a 
splendid  shot !  "  he  exclaimed,  holding  up  the  squir- 
rel by  the  gray  bushy  tail,  in  the  golden  twilight  of 
the  woods. 

"  Don't  twit  me  of  it,"  Worth  replied,  gloomily. 
"  You  have  all  the  luck.     I  can't  shoot  at  all." 

He  was  moody  all  the  way  home  ;  and  at  parting 
refused  to  take  any  of  the  game  which  Chase  had 
shot. 

"Very  well !  "  said  Chase,  losing  patience  a  little  ; 
"you  can  take  it  or  leave  it.  We  always  have 
divided,  and  I  am  going  to  divide  now." 

As  he  threw  down  a  squirrel  and  a  partridge  by 
the  fence,  declaring  that  he  would  not  carry  them 
home,  Worth  finally  consented  to  put  them  in  his 
bag.  Then  to  change  the  subject,  and  cheer  his 
friend's  spirits,  Chase  said,  — 

"  Let's  go  over  to  the  school-house,  after  supper, 
and  get  our  spellers.  We  can  climb  in  through  that 
corner  window,  you  know.     Say  !  will  you?" 

"  I  should  feel  mean  doing  such  a  thing  as  that," 
replied  Worth. 


54  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  mean  about  it.  I  noticed 
several  of  the  boys  carried  their  spellers  home.  I 
should  have  done  the  same,  if  you  had ;  and  I'm 
sony  we  didn't." 

"  I'm  not ;  and  I  wouldn't  climb  into  the  school- 
house  window,  to  win  even  a  finer  prize  than  your 
pocket-rifle ! " 

Worth  spoke  so  haughtily  and  so  decidedly  that 
Chase  simply  answered,  "  I  would ;  I'm  not  so  proud 
as  all  that ! "  and  with  a  careless  laugh  started  for 
home. 

On  coming  out  from  the  woods,  the  boys  had  seen 
the  sunshine  still  flooding  a  part  of  the  valley  and 
all  the  opposite  range  of  slopes  and  peaks  ;  and  now 
Chase  was  himself  in  the  soft  golden  light  as  he  fol- 
lowed the  river-bank,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  went 
up  through  the  lane  and  yard  to  his  father's  house. 

"'Twas  a  good  idea  of  his,  to  get  our  spellers," 
said  Worth,  as  he  sat  on  the  fence  watching  him. 
"  Why  didn't  I  agree  to  it?  I  am  always  saying  or 
doing  something  I'm  sure  to  be  sorry  for  !  " 

The  more  he  thought  of  his  speller,  the  more  he 
wished  he  had  it ;  and  after  he  had  eaten  his  supper 
and  milked  the  cows,  he  thought  he  would  go  over 
and  give  Chase  another  chance  to  propose  getting 
into  the  school-house. 


THKOUGH   THE    SCHOOL-HOUSE    WINDOW.  55 

But  he  was  in  one  of  his  perverse  moods.  He 
was  ashamed  to  let  Chase  know  that  he  had  changed 
his  mind  after  expressing  himself  with  so  much 
emphasis  and  scorn.  So  he  wandered  across  the 
fields  towards  the  road  without  stopping  at  Mr.  At- 
way's  house  at  all. 

Meanwhile,  Chase  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to 
get  his  speller,  — without  Worth,  since  Worth  would 
not  go  with  him. 

It  was  in  the  deepening  twilight  of  the  October 
evening  that  he  went  alone  to  the  school-house, 
climbed  in  at  a  rear- window,  crossed  the  silent, 
dusky  room,  found  his  speller  among  the  other 
books  in  his  desk,  and  buttoned  it  under  his  coat. 

Then,  before  climbing  out  again,  he  looked  from 
the  side  windows  to  see  if  anybody  was  coming 
along  the  road. 

Somebody  was  coming,  —  a  tallish  figure  of  a  boy, 
with  a  peculiar  droop  in  the  shoulders,  and  an  un- 
mistakable pitch  of  the  hat-brim. 

"  It's  Worth  !  "  said  Chase,  astonished.  "  That's 
the  way  he  always  wears  his  hat  when  he's  in  one  of 
his  dull  moods." 

He  wanted  to  fling  up  the  window  and  call  to  his 
friend.     But  he  reflected,  — 

"  It  will  hurt  his  feelings  if  he  knows  I've  come 


56  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

for  my  speller  without  him.    Wonder  where  he  is 
going ! " 

A  little  way  off  Worth  paused,  and  looked  up  and 
down ;  then  made  a  quick  and  furtive  side-start 
towards  the  school-house. 


"  He  mustn't  see  that  window  open !  "  Chase 
thought,  and  hastened  to  close  the  sash. 

A  glance  showed  him  that  Worth,  on  coming 
around  to  the  rear  of  the  school-house,  had  paused 
again. 

"  It  can't  be  possible  he's  coming  for  his  speller, 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL-HOUSE   WINDOW. 


51 


after  refusing  with  such  a  lordly  air  to  come  with 
me  !  "  Chase  thought,  and  dropped  behind  one  of 
the  benches  to  wait. 


Suddenly  a  face  appeared  at  the  window. 

It  was  Worth's.  He  did  not  discover  Chase  peep- 
ing from  his  gloomy  hiding-place  within  ;  nor  did  he 
think  how  plainly  he  could  himself  be  seen,  perched 
there  behind  the  panes  against  the  evening  sky. 


JS  IKE    DOCKET-RIFLE. 

Then  he  carefully  raised  the  sash  and  crept  in ; 
while  Chase  crouched  like  a  culprit,  holding  his 
breath,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

It  was  not  fear  that  made  Chase  Atway  tremble. 
x  his  hiding-place  behind  the  school-house  benches ; 
though  he  was  indeed  extremely  anxious  not  to  be 
discovered  by  his  friend  in  that  position.  A  far 
deeper  feeling  agitated  him,  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  injury  and  wrong. 

He  was  sorry  that  he  had  hidden  there,  and  he 
wanted  to  rise  up  and  show  himself.  But  if  he 
should,  then  Worth  would  know  that  his  treachery 
was  exposed.  And  he  might  think  Chase  as  great  a 
traitor  as  himself.  Could  the  two  ever  be  friends 
again  after  that? 

Chase  had  always  felt  that  he  could  forgive  any- 
thing" sooner  than  lose  his  friend.  But  Worth,  he 
knew,  was  different.  He  dreaded  the  effect  on  him 
of  an  encounter,  under  such  circumstances,  there  in 
the  dusky  school-room. 

Worth  went  to  the  corner  where  their  seats  were, 
and  fumbled  some  time  among  the  books.  Chase 
couid  see  only  his  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
desks ;  he  did  not  venture  to  rise  in  order  to  ob« 
serve  more. 


THROUGH   THE    SCHOOL-HOUSE    WINDOW.  59 

Presently  Worth  went  back  to  the  open  window, 
and  Chase  could  see  him  again  against  the  even- 
ing sky.  A  moment  only.  Worth  slipped  out 
silently,  closed  the  sash  carefully,  and  dropped  to 
the  ground. 


60  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

CHAPTER  VILL 
worth's  deception. 

CHASE  breathed  again,  and  slowly  got  up,  like  a 
ghost  of  himself,  from  behind  the  benches. 

"  This  is  terrible  !  "  he  said  in  a  whisper  that  the 
hollow  school -room  echoed. 

He  glided  to  a  window,  and  saw  Worth  hurrying 
back  the  way  he  had  come,  keeping  close  in  the 
shadow  of  the  roadside  fence. 

"  He  would  not  come  with  me,  when  I  proposed 
it,  because  it  would  be  so  mean.  But  having,  as  he 
thinks,  prevented  me  from  coming,  now  he  comes 
without  me  and  carries  off  his  book  like  a  thief.  Oh, 
the  idea  of  his  thinking  to  get  the  start  of  me  in  that 
way !  " 

Such  to  Chase,  in  the  anguish  of  his  heart,  ap- 
peared to  be  the  natural  interpretation  of  his  friend's 
motives. 

But  maybe  he  did  Worth  injustice. 

"After  all,  he  may  not  have  come  for  his  speller  !" 

Chase  caught  eagerly  at  that  straw  of  hope,  and 
hastened  to  his  friend's  desk. 

"If  I  find  his,  I  will  leave  mine;  I  will  never 


worth's  deception.  61 

take  advantage  of  him  in  any  way !  "  he  vowed  to 
himself,  as  his  hand  groped  among  the  books. 

The  faint  hope  that  had  risen  died,  and  left  his 
heart  sick.  All  the  rest  of  Worth's  books  were 
there,  but  the  speller  was  gone.  Chase  returned  to 
the  window,  and  leaned  tremblingly  upon  it;  he 
gazed  out  at  the  darkening  sky,  which  looked  un- 
speakably cold  and  desolate  to  him,  and  finally 
burst  into  tears. 

M  O  Worth  !  Worth !  "  he  exclaimed,  amid  sobs, 
w  you  never  loved  me  !  " 

He  took  the  speller  from  under  his  coat,  flung  it 
at  the  corner  where  his  desk  was,  and  then  flung 
himself  out  of  the  window  in  a  headlong,  reckless 
way,  almost  wishing  that  he  might  get  hurt.  Pain 
of  body  would  have  been  a  relief  to  his  pangs  of 
soul. 

Once  more  in  the  cooi  evening  air,  he  became 
more  calm.  Above  the  western  mountains  Venus 
shone,  large  and  bright,  in  a  sky  still  rosy  with  the 
departed  sunset.  The  distant  peaks  were  melting 
away  like  banks  of  violet  cloud.  In  the  bare  heav- 
ens overhead  a  few  stars  faintly  twinkled. 

Dew  and  beauty  and  stillness  pervaded  the  valley. 
Not  a  breeze  stirred,  not  a  tree  rustled ;  only  the 
•iver  murmured  as  it  flowed. 


62  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Something  of  this  divine  coolness  and  calm  stole 
into  the  boy's  soul.  At  the  same. time  an  unspeak- 
able loneliness  seemed  to  enfold  the  world  and  him, 
like  the  cold,  vast,  dewy  night.  He  had  never  be- 
fore known  the  sadness,  the  heart-ache,  of  utter 
solitude. 

He  felt  that  he  could  forgive  Worth ;  that  he 
must  love  him  still.  But  could  he  ever  again  be- 
lieve that  Worth  really  cared  for  him  ? 

"  I  won't  try  for  the  prize  at  all ;  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  it,  after  this  !  "  he  resolved. 
And  with  his  heart  still  aching  with  wretchedness 
and  resentment,  he  went  home  and  went  to  bed. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  fields  covered  with  white  frost,  and  the 
foliage  of  the  October  hills  flaming  in  the  sunrise, 
he  found  that  life  was  still  sweet ;  and  he  thought 
of  his  friend  with  yearning  affection. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  explain  to  me  about  the  speller, 
and  make  it  all  right,"  he  fondly  hoped. 

But  he  resolutely  kept  away  from  Worth  that 
day ;  it  was  Sunday,  and  the  two  families  went  dif- 
ferent ways  to  church. 

Chase  looked  forward  with  no  little  anxiety  to 
their  inevitable  meeting  the  next  morning ;  and  his 
heart  swelled  tumultuously  when  in  due  time  ht 


torth's  deception.  63 

saw  Wortn  coming  up  the  lane,  on  his  way  to 
school.  i 

"How  shall  I  meet  him?  What  shall  I  say  to 
him?"  he  had  asked  himself  a  hundred  times,  and 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  act  as  if  nothing  unusual 
had  happened. 

But  that  was  not  easy  to  do ;  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  an  air  of  constraint  —  conscious  that  his 
face  was  pale  and  his  smile  forced  —  when  he  went 
out  to  join  his  friend. 

Worth  had  his  coat  buttoned ;  and  Chase  knew 
that  the  speller  was  concealed  under  it.  He,  on 
the  other  hand,  wore  his  coat  conspicuously  open. 

There  was  no  book  concealed  about  him;  Worth 
could  see  that. 

Chase  tried  to  make  a  little  talk  ;  but  Worth  was 
reserved  and  silent.  This  was  nothing  neAv  for  him. 
And  yet  Chase  believed  it  was  the  spelling-book 
buttoned  under  his  friend's  coat  which  made  him 
moody  that  morning. 

K  He  isn't  going  to  tell  me  an}'thing  about  it,"  he 
thought,  with  fresh  pangs  of  resentment  and  grief. 

Indeed,  they  reached  the  school-house,  and  the 
thing  which  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  both  had 
not  once  been  mentioned. 

Chase  watched  his  friend,  and  saw  him  press  for- 


64  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

ward  to  their  corner,  and  bend  down  behind  hk 
desk.  The  buttoned  coat  was  presently  thrown 
open.     The  speller  had  been  put  away. 

"I  never  supposed  he  could  be  so  sly  —  with 
me  !  "  was  Chase  Atway's  bitter  reflection.  "  I  am 
just  beginning  to  find  him  out." 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  act  a  little  part.  He  went 
to  his  desk,  and  pretended  to  be  surprised  at  finding 
his  books  disarranged. 

"  I  never  left  them  in  that  shape.  Who  has  been 
meddling  with  them?"  he  called  out,  indignantly. 

"Are  they  all  there?"  Worth  asked,  with  a  ner- 
vous tremor  of  the  lips,  by  which  he  sometimes  be- 
trayed excitement  he  was  trying  to  control. 

"Yes,  I  guess  so,"  replied  Chase,  laying  the  books 
out  on  the  desk  before  him.  "  Only  they're  not ! " 
he  suddenly  exclaimed.     "Where's  my  speller?" 

"  Isn't  it  there  ?  "  Worth  inquired,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  surprise  and  sympathy. 

"  I  can't  find  it !  "  Chase  declared,  as  if  it  were  a 
great  mystery. 

"  You  spoke  of  coming  over  for  it,  to  carry  it 
home,  Saturday  evening,"  his  friend  suggested. 

"  But  I  didn't  carry  it  home,"  said  Chase.  "  Do 
you  suppose  anybody  else  could  have  got  in?" 
And  he  gave  a  searching  look  at  Worth. 


WORTH'S    DECEPTION.  65 

"I  don't  see  why  anybody  should  have  got  in,  to 
meddle  with  your  books,"  Worth  replied,  without 
meeting  his  friend's  eye. 

"  Has  your  speller  been  taken  away  ?  "  Chase  de- 
manded. 

"No — I  —  I  believe  my  books  are  all  here,"  re- 
plied Worth.  "  Yes,  speller  and  all,"  —  after  mak- 
ing a  brief  examination.  "  Have  you  looked  on  the 
floor?" 

Chase  had  not  looked  on  the  floor,  because  he 
wished  first  to  sound  his  friend  by  making  this  little 
talk.  But  now  both  looked  together  under  their 
seats,  and  there  the  speller  was  found,  just  where 
Chase  had  flung  it  two  nights  before. 

"Who  could  have  put  it  there?"  he  cried,  with 
feigned  indignation. 

He  was  afterwards  ashamed  of  the  deception  he 
had  thus  practised  upon  his  friend. 

"  But  he  is  deceiving  me  all  the  time  in  a  worse 
way,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  He  doesn't  suspect  that 
I  see  through  him.  He  shall  know  it  some  day, 
though." 

His  bitterness  of  resentment  amounted  almost  to 
hatred  at  that  moment. 


66  THE   POCKET-EIFLE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CHASE    ATWAY'S    STRANGE    CONDUCT. 

THE  school  was  called  to  order ;  and  after  a  few 
exercises,  Master  Cram  introduced  again  the 
subject  of  the  prize.  He  had  brought  to  school  a 
handsome  copy  of  Mrs.  Browning's  poems,  which 
he  himself  now  offered  as  a  prize  to  the  best  speller 
among  the  girls. 

This  was  in  the  days  when  there  was  a  revival  of 
interest  in  spelling  all  over  the  country.  It  had 
reached  Mr.  Cram's  school.  His  first  two  classes 
had  already  been  formed  into  a  single  spelling-class, 
which  ranged  itself  around  the  room  every  after- 
noon, just  before  the  dismissal,  and  spelled  the 
words  he  put  out.  One  who  spelled  a  word  right 
passed  above  those  who  had  missed  it ;  and  he  who 
remained  at  the  head  of  the  class  at  the  close  of 
the  exercise  received  a  certain  credit.  But  he  or 
she  had  to  step  down  to  the  foot  the  next  day, 
and  begin  the  upward  struggle  over  again. 

As  some  of  the  younger  ones  in  this  consolidated 
class  spelled  quite  as  well  as  the  oldest,  the  offer  of 


CHASE    ATWAY'S    STRANGE   CONDUCT.  67 

prizes  for  spelling  seemed  calculated  to  interest  a 
larger  number  of  pupils,  than  if  they  had  been 
offered  for  excellence  in  any  other  branch  of  study. 

So  Mr.  Cram  remarked,  on  laying  the  subject 
once  more  before  the  school.  And  he  now  pro- 
posed that  the  old  system  of  getting  to  the  head 
should  continue  ;  and  that  in  future,  each  final  head- 
ing of  the  class  for  the  day  should  count  the  victor 
one  for  the  prize. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  hardly  be  fair  to  start  with  the 
class  as  it  stands,"  he  went  on,  "for  that  will  give 
those  who  are  near  the  head  an  advantage  over  the 
rest. " 

As  he  had  invited  remarks  on  the  subject  from  the 
school,  Worth  replied, — 

"It  is  an  advantage  they  have  fairly  earned, 
isn't  it?" 

"  I  think  so  !  yes  ! "  chorused  two  or  three  voices. 

"  I  don't  see  it  so,"  Chase  spoke  up,  promptly. 

"  Give  us  your  reasons,"  said  the  master,  approv- 
ingly. 

"  If  our  present  positions  in  the  class  showed  our 
standing  as  good  spellers,  that  might  be  an  argu- 
ment, though  a  poor  one,  for  giving  those  the  ad- 
vantage who  happen  now  to  be  near  the  head.  But 
if  they  are  really  the  best  spellers,  it  seems  to  me 


68  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

they  should  be  willing  to  begin  at  the  foot,  ana  give 
the  poorer  spellers  the  start." 

Master  Cram  smiled,  and  nodded.     Chase  w<*at  on. 

"But  there's  another  thing  to  be  considered. 
Some  of  those  who  have  earned  the  advantage  as 
much  as  anybody  have  lately  graduated  from  the 
head  and  passed  to  the  foot.  That  migfr  have  been 
the  case  with  those  left  at  the  head  no^  If  so,  I 
think  they  would  hardly  insist  upon  ajything  so 
plainly  unjust." 

Now  the  pupil  who  had  really  been  left  at  the 
head  was  Worth  himself.  He  knew  that  Chase 
knew  it ;  and  Chase  had  spoken  with  a  spirit  which 
could  not  be  mistaken.  Smarting  with  indignation 
at  his  friend's  conduct,  he  had  made  this  sharp 
attack. 

Worth  was  amazed ;  he  could  not  understand  it. 
Chase,  usually  so  devoted  to  him,  so  deferential 
always,  had  wounded  him  to  the  quick. 

"I  don't  insist,"  he  exclaimed,  with  heat;  "and 
I  scorn  the  imputation  of  injustice." 

Master  Cram  rapped  the  desk  with  his  ruler. 
"Boys!  I'm  astonished!"  he  said,  severely. 

Chase  smiled,  but  with  sparkling  eyes.  "I  am 
not  aware  of  having  said  anything  wrong,"  he  re- 
plied, blandly  and  diplomatically.     "  /  certainly  am 


CHASE    ATWAY'S    STRANGE    CONDUCT.  69 

not  talking  selfishly  for  my  own  interest.  I  am  not 
at  the  foot,  nor  anywhere  near  it.  I  made  a  gen 
eral  remark." 

"  He  spoke  of  the  one  now  at  the  head  insisting 
upon  an  injustice,"  said  Worth,  his  eyes  suffused, 
and  his  lips  quivering.  M  His  remark  was  personal. 
I  am  at  the  head." 

"  I  spoke  of  those  near  the  head ;  I  didn't  say  the 
one"  retorted  Chase.  "I  am  within  three  of  the 
head  myself.  But  I'm  not  so  anxious  to  get  the 
prize  that  I  can't  see  what  is  fair  and  honorable  in 
the  matter." 

Every  word  was  a  sting  to  the  proud  and  sensi- 
tive Worth. 

K  That  will  do  I  "  said  the  teacher,  cutting  off  fur- 
ther argument.  "I  think  myself  that  it  would 
hardly  be  fair  to  start  with  the  class  as  it  stands. 
1  propose,  instead,  that  you  shall  spell  for  places, 
o-oino-  over  a  few  of  your  back  lessons.  Those  in 
favor  of  this  plan  will  hold  up  their  hands." 

Every  hand  went  up  but  Worth's.  He  was  sul- 
lenly chafing  under  his  defeat. 

"  The  contrary,"  said  Master  Cram. 

Not  a  hand  went  up,  Worth  declining  to  vote 
at  all. 

The  plan  was  therefore  decided   upon,  and  the 


70  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

usual  spelling-hour  in  the  afternoon  was  named  for 
the  trial.  The  ordinary  routine  of  exercises  was 
then  resumed. 

Very  little  communication  took  place  between  the 
two  friends  during  the  day.  Chase,  in  thinking 
over  the  affair,  deeply  regretted  the  open  breach 
between  them.  But  it  seemed  to  him  better  that  it 
should  be  open;  far  better  than  that  they  should 
both  keep  on  hypocritically  trying  to  cover  up,  with 
friendly  appearances,  a  secret  wrong,  of  which  both 
were  conscious,  but  of  which  neither  could  speak. 

During  the  day  there  was  an  industrious  study- 
ing of  spelling-books,  in  spare  moments,  through- 
out the  school.  But  Chase  did  not  deign  to  look 
at  his. 

In  a  certain  way,  he  was  prouder  even  than 
Worth ;  for  Worth  was  not  too  proud  to  take  out 
his  speller,  when  no  other  study  was  pressing,  and 
prepare  himself  for  the  coming  trial. 

To  show  his  contempt  for  the  whole  business, 
Chase  sat  and  made  drawings  on  his  slate.  Or  per- 
haps it  was  to  relieve  his  own  restless  and  remorse- 
ful heart  that  he  thus  occupied  himself  with  trifles. 

The  hour  came,  and  the  spelling  was  announced. 

"Keep  your  seats,"  said  the  master,  "and  I  will 
pronounce  words  to  you  where  you  are.     But  when 


CHASE   ATWAY'S    STRANGE   CONDUCT.  71 

one  misses,  let  him  or  her  step  out  and  stand  in 
place  for  the  formation  of  the  new  class,  beginning 
at  the  foot.  I  shall  put  out  words  only  to  those  on 
the  seats.  The  one  who  holds  out  longest  without 
missing  will,  of  course,  be  at  the  head.  Then  we 
shall  be  ready  for  a  fair  start  to-morrow,  when  the 
credits  for  the  prizes  will  begin  to  count." 

"  Can  any  one  give  his  place  to  another  after  the 
class  is  formed?"  Chase  inquired. 

"  I  shouldn't  suppose  any  one  would  wish  to  do 
so,"  replied  the  master. 

"  But  if  any  one  should  wish  to  ?  "  Chase  insisted. 

"Why,  —  only  for  the  start,  —  since  the  spelling 
for  the  prizes  really  begins  to-morrow,"  replied 
Master  Cram,  "I  don't  object.  What  does  the 
school  say?     I'll  put  it  to  a  vote." 

As  there  were  a  number  of  votes  in  the  affirma- 
tive, and  none  in  the  negative,  Chase  Atway's 
strange  question  was  answered  to  his  satisfaction. 

Whilst  making  drawings  on  his  slate,  he  had 
really  been  considering  an  idea  which  was  to  take 
the  school  by  surprise. 


72  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

SPELLING  FOR    PLACES. 

WHEN  all  were  in  readiness,  the  spelling  began. 
Master  Cram  put  out  easy  words  at  first,  but 
idvanced  rapidly  to  harder,  after  he  had  gone  once 
or  twice  around  the  school. 

There  was  great  fun  over  the  first  miss.  The  vic- 
tim was  Charlie  Budgett ;  he  went  down  on  the  sim- 
ple word  staging,  which  he  spelled  with  an  e  between 
the  g  and  i. 

"Never  mind,  Charlie," said  the  master,  cheerily. 
"  You  are  not  the  first  person  who  has  fallen  from 
a  staging.  You'll  have  a  chance  to  get  up  to- 
morrow." 

There  was  another  laugh  when  Charlie,  who  was 
the  tallest  and  awkwardest  boy  in  school,  stepped 
out  to  take  his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  new  class. 

He  was  not  long  without  company.  Poor  Lem 
Pavode,  whom  Chase  had  observed  studying  his 
speller  with  great  assiduity,  in  the  hope  of  starting 
well  for  the  prize  his  father  had  offered  to  the  whole 
school,  failed  o*i  barrel  (which  he  spelled  barrell), 


SPELLING   FOR    PLACES .  75 

and  had   to  take  his  place    next    to   the   gawky 

Charles. 

*  It  was  a  pretty  long  barrel  you  made  of  it,"  ob- 
served the  facetious  master.  w  You  made  it  an  I  too 
long.     Thinking  of  a  rifle-barrel,  I  suppose." 

Lem  didn't  see  the  joke.  He  saw  only  the  dis- 
couraging circumstance  that  he  had  made  a  bad  be- 
ginning for  the  coveted  prize.  Two  girls  and  a  boy 
missed  scion,  and  filed  to  their  places  in  the  now 
fast-forming  class. 

The  word  came  to  Worth,  and  disaster  with  it. 
How  he  chanced  to  spell  it  scyon,  when  he  knew 
perfectly  well  the  moment  after  how  it  should  be 
spelled,  he  never  could  explain. 

"  It  makes  }^ou  sigh,  doesn't  it?"  said  the  master. 
"Well,  take  your  place,  and  you  can  sigh  on  with 
the  rest.     Next." 

Chase  was  next,  and  he  spelled  the  word  trip- 
pingly on  the  tongue,  with  an  ease  and  readiness 
not  calculated  to  soothe  Worth's  feelings.  It  was 
perhaps  his  perfect  freedom  from  anxiety  which  gave 
him  good  fortune.  Having  made  up  his  mind  not 
to  compete  for  the  prize,  he  was  gay  and  self-pos- 
sessed. 

At  length,  only  he  and  Laura  Fosdick  were  left 
on  the  seats ;  objects  of  envy  to  the  rest,  who  were 


74  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

now  out  of  the  game,  and  stood  intently  watch- 
ing it. 
. "  Balance"  pronounced  the  master. 

The  word  came  to  Laura. 

"  B-a-l-"  —  she  hesitated,  and  after  a  little  con- 
fusion, added,  "  l-a-n-c-e." 

"  Wrong ! "  And  amid  about  as  much  laughter 
as  had  greeted  the  first  failure,  Laura  went  to  her 
place,  leaving  Chase  alone. 

He  was  surprised  and  jubilant.  Having  spelled 
the  word  correctly  (though  he  owned  afterwards 
that  he  should  have  spelled  it  just  as  Laura  did  if 
it  had  come  first  to  him),  he  waited  for  more. 

"  There's  no  use  of  more,"  said  Master  Cram. 
M  Everything  is  decided.    Take  your  place,  Atway." 

Chase  deliberated  a  moment,  then  walked  to  the 
Dead  of  the  class.  If  cheering  had  been  in  order, 
he  would  have  been  cheered  heartily.  He  was  a 
favorite  with  the  school ;  and  his  generous  conduct 
in  the  whole  affair  made  those  who  had  lost  glad  to 
see  him  win. 

With  perhaps  one  exception.  By  the  intense 
brightness  of  Worth's  dark  eyes,  fixed  upon  his 
triumphant  friend,  you  could  hardly  have  told 
whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry. 

"  I  believe  it  was  understood,"  said  Chase,  stand- 


SPELLING   FOR  PLACES.  75 

ing  at  the  head  of  the  class,  "  that  any  one  could 
give  up  his  place  to  another." 

"  That  was  the  decision,"  replied  the  master. 

But  it  had  been  so  nearly  forgotten  that  Chase's 
remark  took  almost  everybody  by  surprise. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  up  my  place  to  one  I  think 
deserves  it  more." 

And  he  glanced  his  eye  along  the  class.  Every 
one,  of  course,  thought  he  meant  Worth.  This, 
then,  was  to  be  his  atonement  for  the  injury  he  had 
done  his  friend  in  the  morning. 

Worth  certainly  believed  so ;  and  he  instantly 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  accept  the  sacrifice.  He 
would  show  himself  as  magnanimous  as  Chase. 
What,  then,  was  his  surprise  —  what  was  the  sur- 
prise of  everybody  —  when  Chase  walked  deliber- 
ately past  his  friend,  and  did  not  stop  until  he  was 
near  the  foot. 

"Lem  Pavode,"  said  he,  "take  your  place  at  the 
head ! "  At  the  same  time  he  swuns:  Lem  from 
his  position,  and  launched  him  with  good-humored 
force  towards  that  which  he  had  himself  just  va- 
cated. 

Lem  stopped,  bewildered  and  embarrassed. 

"  I  don't  want  to  take  it ! "  said  he,  with  tears 
starting   :n   his   eyes.     He   looked  back,  and  saw 


76  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 

Chase  already  in  position  next  to  Charlie  Budgetl 
at  the  foot,  and  knew  by  his  frank  and  honest  face 
that  it  was  no  joke. 

"I  want  him  to  take  it,"  said  Chase.  "I  should 
want  him  to  have  the  first  chance,  even  if  I  was 
going  to  try  for  the  prize.     But  I'm  not." 

"Not  going  to  try  for  the  prize,  Atway ! "  said 
Master  Cram.     "  Why  so  ?  " 

"  I  can't  very  well  explain  my  reasons,"  replied 
Chase.     "  But  I  think  I'd  better  not." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  take  the  chance 
he  gives  me,"  said  Lem ;  "  though  I  don't  expect 
it  will  be  of  much  use.  I  shan't  be  here  to-morrow 
night,  I'm  afraid  ! " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  be,"  observed  the 
master.  "  You  or  any  one  can  learn  perfectly  to- 
morrow's lesson,  and  the  spelling  will  be  confined  to 
that." 

Lem's  tearful  face  shone  with  a  newly-inspired 
hope.  All  —  or  nearly  all  —  regarded  him  with 
sympathy,  and  Chase  with  admiration. 


THE   BREACH  WIDENS.  77 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   BREACH   WIDENS. 


A  FTER  school,  many  took  their  spellers  to  carry 
£L   home.     Lem  hugged  his  to  his  heart,  with   a 


'&& 


cheerful  and  resolute  look.  Chase  sought  him  out 
and  walked  aside  with  him. 

"See  here,  Lem!"  he  said;  "do  you  know  the 
plan  I've  formed  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  the  grateful  boy  ;  "  what  is  it?" 

"That  you  shall  win  the  pocket-rifle." 

"  You  mean—  that  I  —  " 

"Yes,"  Chase  declared;  "I've  set  my  heart  on  it. 
And  I'm  going  to  help  you  all  I  can.  But  you  must 
help  yourself.  You're  a  pretty  good  speller;  and 
now  you've  got  ahead,  there's  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  keep  ahead.  Don't  tell  anybody  what  I 
say  ;  but  remember  it  and  rely  on  me." 

Lem  went  home  with  his  heart  all  aglow  with  joy, 
gratitude,  and  ambition. 

Meanwhile,  Worth  had  started  homeward — a 
very  unusual  thing  —  without  his  friend.  But  Chase 
saw  that  he  walked  very  slowly,  and  soon  came  up 


78  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

with  him.  Neither  spoke  for  some  time.  Worth's 
brow  was  dark  and  lowering,  and  Chase  did  not 
choose  to  begin  a  conversation.  At  length,  Worth 
said,  in  a  much  gentler  tone  than  Chase  had  any 
reason  to  expect, — 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Chase  ! ;J 

"That's  not  very  surprising,"  Chase  replied.  "I 
haven't  understood  myself,  nor  you  either,  until 
quite  lately." 

"  You  really  don't  mean  to  try  for  the  prize  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"  Why  not?"  Worth  asked,  in  an  humble  tone. 

"  Because  I  don't  think  it's  worth  while.  There 
are  other  things  of  a  great  deal  more  importance  than 
Pavode's  pocket-rifle,  or  the  honor  of  winning  it." 

"  Something  has  come  over  you,"  said  Worth,  in 
his  full,  tender  voice,  now  slightly  tremulous. 

Chase  was  silent.  His  heart  was  full.  He  longed 
for  a  renewal  of  friendship,  and  would  gladly  have 
forgiven  everything  if  Worth  had  taken  the  first 
necessary  step  towards  a  reconciliation. 

That  step  was,  of  course,  a  frank  confession,  or  at 
least  an  explanation,  of  the  deception  Worth  had 
practised  in  carrying  home  his  speller.  But  not 
knowing  that  Chase  had  discovered  his  secret,  Worth 
avoided  any  allusion  that  would  lead  to  it. 


THE   BREACH   WIDENS.  79 

w  You  said  once  that  you  hoped  I  would  get  the 
prize.  But  I  don't  suppose  you  have  given  it  up 
for  my  sake.     I  don't  want  you  to  do  that." 

Still  Chase  remained  silent,  struggling  with  emo- 
tions which  his  companion's  voice,  the  recollection  of 
their  long  and  dear  intimacy,  and  the  sense  of  recent 
wrongs,  awakened  in  him. 

"I  was  astonished — I  am  sorry,"  said  Worth, 
"that  you  are  not  going  to  try." 

Then  Chase  spoke  out.  "  i"  am  not  sorry !  It 
was  a  great  relief  to  me,  the  moment  I  determined 
to  step  out  of  the  race  —  out  of  the  way  of  temp- 
tation." 

"  Temptation  !  "  echoed  Wont's  >  —  "  what  temp- 
tation?" 

"  The  temptation  to  sell  my  soul  for  a  paltry  prize  ; 
to  be  mean,  selfish,  dishonest;  to  forget  friendship 
and  honor  and  truth  in  that  miserable  strife  !  " 

The  boy  flung  out  these  passionate  words  with 
sudden,  rapid  vehemence ;  and  again  there  was 
silence.  He  carried  his  head  high,  with  flushed  and 
excited  features.  Worth  walked  by  his  side, 
thoughtful  and  down-looking. 

"You  think  I  have  done  that?"  Worth  said,  after 
s  while. 

/have  nothing  to  say;  I  leave  it  to  your  own 


80  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

conscience,"  replied  Chase.  "  But,  Worth,  I  have 
thought  of  one  thing  many  times, "  he  added,  his 
voice  beginning  to  break,  —  "  what  that  wretched 
sinner,  Jim  Lathbrook,  said  to  us  only  last  Satur* 
day.  About  friendship,  you  know ;  the  selfishness 
that  is  at  the  bottom  even  of  that.  Was  he  right? 
Oh!" 

Chase  spoke  as  if  his  heart  was  wrung. 

"  You  said  then  it  wasn't  possible  for  us  ever  to 
quarrel,"  Worth  replied.  w  But  you  really  made  an 
attack  upon  me  to-day." 

w  Yes,  I  did  !  "  Chase  declared,  impetuously.  w  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  hate  unfairness  in  any  one ;  in  a 
friend  most  of  all." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  a  little  unfair ;  but  it  was  from 
thoughtlessness.  You  needn't  have  turned  on  me  so 
—  you  of  all  persons ! "  said  Worth,  with  strong 
feeling.     "  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it !  " 

"  I  was  disgusted  and  provoked.  It  seemed  such 
a  petty  strife  ! "  cried  Chase.  "  But  I  have  got 
through.  I  am  out  of  the  race.  Now  it  won't  be 
necessary  for  you  to  deceive  me,  or  try  to  get  the 
start  of  me  in  anything  ;  I  shan't  stand  in  your  path." 

These  were  burning  words  for  Worth  to  carry 
away  in  his  heart.  He  started  to  answer  them,  but 
while  he  hesitated  they  reached  Mr.  Atway's  yard. 


THE    BREACH   WIDENS. 


81 


Chase  turned  into  the  shed,  and  Worth,  full  of 
smouldering  rage  and  mortification,  kept  on  his  way 
alone. 


Chase  saw  that  the  breach  between  them  was 
broadening  more  and  more.  He  couldn't  help  it. 
Something  drove  him  to  speak  and  act  as  he  did. 
It  was,  perhaps,  the  natural  revolt  of  feeling  against 


82  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

one  whom  he  had  always  set  too  high  above  himself, 
whom  he  had  worshipped  too  much,  and  whom  he 
now  found  unworthy. 

"  If  he  had  only  owned  up  to  that  mean  trick  of 
getting  his  speller !  "  thought  Chase,  regretfully. 
"  I  gave  him  more  than  one  chance  to.  Now  let  him 
do  what  he  will." 

He  remembered  with  grim  satisfaction  the  corn 
Worth  had  engaged  to  help  him  husk  on  the  even- 
ings of  that  week. 

"  It  belongs  to  him  to  come  to  me,"  he  reflected. 
"  But  I  don't  believe  he  will  come." 

He  was  right.  Worth's  mind  was  in  too  black 
and  thunderous  a  state  that  evening  to  permit  of  his 
keeping  the  engagement.  He  was  not  willing,  how- 
ever, to  rest  under  the  smallest  weight  of  obligation 
to  Chase ;  and  accordingly  resorted  to  a  simple  de- 
vice for  discharging  it. 


MR.  atway's  advice.  83 


CHAPTER  XH. 

MR.    ATWAY'S   ADVICE. 

AFTER  supper,  Tim  Lankton  made  his  appearance 
at  Mr.  Atway's  kitchen-door.  He  wanted  to 
see  Chase. 

"What  is  it,  Tim?"  said  Chase,  meeting  him  in 
the  dusky  doorway. 

"  Worth  wanted  me  to  come  over  and  help  you 
husk  that  corn,"  said  Tim. 

"Why  don't  he  come  himself,  as  he  agreed?"  re- 
turned Chase. 

"  He  couldn'!:  very  well  to-night ;  he's  busy,"  re- 
plied Tim. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Chase  sarcastically.  "  Studying  his 
spelling-book,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  grinned  Tim. 

"  Well,"  added  Chase,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  do 
work  that  he  has  promised  to  do  himself.  But  I'll 
excuse  him.  Tell  him  he  is  quite  welcome  to  the 
help  I  gave  him  about  picking  those  apples,  and 
that  I  am  able  to  husk  the  corn  alone." 


84  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Tim  was  only  too  glad  to  get  off  so  ;  and  he  went 
home  to  his  brother  with  this  errand. 

But  Chase  was  agitated  and  unhappy.  His  father 
waited  until  they  were  alone,  and  then  said,  — 

w  What's  the  trouble  between  you  and  Worth  ?  " 


Chase  answered  by  beginning  to  cry. 

"Well,  well;  something  serious,  is  it?"  said  his 
father.    "  Come,  cheer  up,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Then  the  unhappy  boy  opened  his  heart  and  told, 
amid  sobs  he  could  not  control,  the  whole  story. 

"Just  like  one   of    them   Lanktons,  for  all  the 


85 


world ! "  said  Mr.  Atway.  "  They're  a  sulky, 
treacherous  lot." 

"I  always  thought  Worth  was  different,"  said 
Chase,  inclined  now  to  stand  up  for  his  friend. 

"  He's  a  Lankton  —  clear  Lankton  !  "  replied  his 
father.  "I've  watched  your  intimacy  with  him  a 
good  while ;  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  haven't 
been  over-and-above  pleased  with  it.  You've  thought 
a  great  deal  more  of  him  than  he  ever  deserved." 

"  There's  nothing  I  wouldn't  have  done  for  him  1 " 
sobbed  Chase. 

"  I  know  it.  But  it's  precious  little  he  would 
ever  have  done  for  you  !  "  said  Mr.  Atway.  "  When- 
ever he  has  wanted  you  for  anything,  then  how  good 
a  friend  he  has  always  been  !  But  when  he  hasn't 
wanted  you,  he  has  been  cold  and  stiff  with  you. 
Hasn't  he?" 

"Sometimes,"  Chase  confessed.  "He  acknowl- 
edges that  he  has  his  moods." 

"  There  are  some  good  traits  about  him,"  his  father 
went  on.  "  But  he  never  was  what  you  thought 
him.  And  I'm  not  sorry  that  you  are  finding  him 
out.     Better  now  than  later." 

"  But  it  is  so  hard  !  "  replied  Chase. 

"It  is  hard,"  said  his  father  tenderly.  "It  is 
about  the  hardest  thins;  in  life  to  find  that  those  we 


SQ  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

have  loved  and  trusted  are  unworthy ;  that  those  we 
have  been  most  devoted  to  have  all  the  while  been 
thinking  chiefly  of  themselves." 

Chase  could  not  but  own  to  himself  that  this  had 
been  the  way  with  Worth. 

"  He  can  be  so  kind,  so  obliging !  "  he  said.  "  More 
so  than  I  ever  was  !  " 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  his  father.  "  He 
has  an  intense  way  of  expressing  himself,  and  he 
has  strong  impulses  ;  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  Now 
take  my  advice.  Set  him  down  for  what  he  is,  and 
make  the  best  of  him.  Don't  be  such  a  satellite  to 
him  as  you  have  been  hitherto  ;  he  ain't  the  centre  of 
the  universe  to  you,  or  to  anybody  but  himself." 

Chase  sat  silent  by  the  kitchen-table,  with  his 
forehead  on  his  hand. 

"And  in  future,"  his  father  continued,  lighting  his 
pipe  by  the  stove,  "don't  place  your  friends  away  up 
above  you  in  the  clouds ;  don't  expect  too  much  of 
'em.     You'll  be  sure  to  be  disappointed  if  you  do." 

"Are  there  no  friends  in  the  world?"  said  Chase, 
looking  up  despairingly. 

"Yes,  plenty  of  them,"  said  his  father.  "You'll 
find,  though,  that  every  one,  as  a  general  thing,  has 
interests  of  his  own  which  are  first  and  foremost 
with  him.      Remember  that.      And,  as  I  said,  don't 


MR.    ATWAY'S    ADVICE.  87 

expect  too  much.     It  will  be  a  good  lesson  to  you, 
if  you'll  only  learn  that." 

A  good  lesson,  perhaps,  but  it  left  Chase  unspeak- 
ably depressed.  And  it  did  not  tend  to  soften  his 
heart  toward  Worth.  He  thought  over  all  his  father 
had  said  of  the  friend  he  had  overrated  ;  he  recalled 
a  hundred  instances  of  Worth's  coldness  and  neglect, 
and  exclaimed,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul,  — 

"  All  he  has  cared  for  has  been  just  to  make  a  tool 
of  me,  and  I  have  been  weak  enough  to  let  him  1 
But  all  that  is  past.     I  am  nobody's  tool  any  more." 

The  next  day  the  two  friends  had  no  intercourse 
with  each  other ;  and  it  was  noticed  that  Worth  no 
longer  passed  Mr.  Atway's  house  on  his  way  to  and 
from  school.  He  even  lengthened  the  distance  a 
mile  by  going  around  the  road. 

Meanwhile,  Chase  had  scrupulously  kept  his  word 
in  one  thing.  Old  Whiteface,  the  mischief-maker, 
the  leading  fence-leaper,  was  furnished  with  a  ham- 
per when  turned  with  the  other  horses  into  the  back 
pasture  adjoining  Mr.  Lankton's  fields. 

"It's  a  good  idea;  we  ought  to  have  done  it  be- 
fore," said  his  father.  "Avoid  every  chance  for  a 
quarrel,  my  son  ;  remember  they  are  our  neighbors." 

This  was  excellent  advice,  and  it  would  have  been 
well  if  Chase  could  have  shaped  his  future  conduct 
by  it. 


88  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XHI. 

HUSKING  THE   CORN. 

CHASE  had  help  about  the  corn-husking,  never- 
theless. 

After  his  talk  with  his  father  that  evening,  Lem 
Pavode  came  over  to  see  him. 

Lem  had  met  Tim  Lankton,  and  learned  of  him 
that  there  was  trouble  between  Chase  and  Worth. 
He  came  with  his  spelling-book,  and  this  propo- 
sition : 

"  If  you'll  drill  me  in  the  spelling-lessons,  I'll 
husk  all  the  corn  Worth  promised  to,  and  a  good 
deal  more." 

"  That  will  be  jolly !  "  said  Chase,  glad  of  some- 
thing to  distract  his  mind. 

So  they  took  a  lantern  and  the  speller,  and  went 
to  the  barn,  and  sat  down  before  the  pile  of  un- 
husked  ears. 

The  light  was  placed  on  an  overturned  box,  and 
the  book  laid  open  beside  it,  with  a  bright  red  ear 


HUSKING   THE    CORN. 


80 


across  the  leaves.  And  there  the  boys  husked  the 
corn,  throwing  the  stripped  ears  in  another  pile 
behind  them,  while  Chase  glanced  now  and  then  at 
the  outspread  page,  and  pronounced  words  for  Lem 
to  spell. 

Then  something  happened  which  Chase  never 
knew  of  until  long  afterwards.  When  Tim  went 
home  to  his  brother  with  Chase's  message,  Worth 
was  mightily  moved  by  it.  He  had  been  suffering 
intensely  from  the  stab  of  Chase's  last  words ;  and 
he  now  felt  impelled  to  go  over  at  once  and  have  a 
talk  with  him. 

With  this  impulse  he  set  out.  He,  too,  longed 
for  a  reconciliation.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  in 
the  wrong,  and  he  burned  to  set  himself  right.  He 
would  at  any  rate  insist  on  doing  his  share  of  the 
corn-husking,  and  make  an  opportunity  for  explana- 
tions and  a  renewal  of  friendship. 

"  But  if  he  still  treats  me  with  insolence,"  he  said 
to  himself,  —  remembering  with  bitterness  and  hu- 
miliation what  he  had  already  borne,  —  "there'll  be 
a  final  outburst,  and  we  are  enemies  forever !  " 

With  such  mingled  feelings  he  went  up  the  lane 
and  entered  Mr.  Atway's  yard. 

As  he  was  passing  the  barn,  the  sound  of  voices 
and   a   light   within    attracted   his   attention.      He 


90  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

stopped  at  the  door,  which  was  open  a  handbreadth, 
and  looked  in. 

The  rustling  of  the  husks  prevented  his  being 
heard  ;  and  the  boys  went  on  with  their  occupation. 
All  above  and  about  them  were  the  shadows  of  the 
great  barn.  But  there  was  the  bright  core  of  ra- 
diating light,  the  figures  of  the  young  huskers, 
relieved  in  its  warm  glow,  their  animated  faces,  the 
piles  of  corn,  and  the  open  book  with  the  red  ear  on 
it,  beside  the  lantern. 

The  boys  husked,  and  laughed,  and  tossed  the 
golden  ears,  and  spelled  the  words  of  the  lesson, 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  dark  face  out  there  in  the 
night,  peering  upon  them  through  the  narrow  open- 
ing of  the  doorway. 

Something  fierce  and  wolfish  came  up  in  Worth's 
breast  as  he  watched  and  listened.  This  then  was 
Chase !  so  long  his  faithful  follower,  who  had 
always  appeared  to  him  so  frank  and  generous 
and  true. 

After  declaring  that  he  would  not  compete  for  the 
prize,  here  he  was  studying  for  it  with  all  his  might. 
And  after  rudely  flinging  off  an  old  friend,  he  was 
plotting  against  him  with  a  new  one.  It  was  now 
Worth's  turn  to  look  upon  Chase  as  a  traitor. 

"It  was  a  mere  pretence,  to  throw  me  oif  my 


HUSKING   THE    CORN. 


91 


guard,  that  lie  wouldn't  try  for  the  prize.  He  has 
meant  to  try  for  it  all  the  time.  But  he  never  shall 
get  it  —  not  if  I  live  !  " 

And  with  this  resolution  Worth  drew  back  from 
the  opening,  and  fled  away  across  the  dark  and 
lonely  fields. 


92  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE      RACE      BEGINS. 

THE  next  day,  thanks  to  Chase's  drill,  Lem  was 
able  to  hold  his  position  at  the  head  of  the 
class,  and  make  the  first  count  for  the  prize. 

Wednesday,  Laura  Fosdick  kept  the  lead.  There 
was  some  changing  of  places  below  her ;  Lem,  who 
had  passed  to  the  foot,  came  to  Chase's  side  about 
half-way  up  the  class,  and  Worth  was  left  at  the 
head  when  Laura  went  down. 

The  next  day  Worth  came  off  victorious,  and  left 
but  one  between  Chase  and  the  head.  But  on  Fri- 
day Chase  easily  became  first,  and  just  at  the  close 
of  the  exercise  Lem  walked  up  to  his  side. 

Only  three  or  four  words  remained  of  the  lesson. 
The  last  was  cancel,  and  if  it  had  been  spelled  cor- 
rectly at  the  foot  of  the  class,  Chase  would  have 
stood  at  the  head  that  night. 

But  Charlie  Budgett  was  at  the  foot,  to  which  ho 
constantly  gravitated,  like  a  water-logged  stick  to 
the  bottom  of  a  stream.  The  current  of  change 
from  the  head  to  the  foot  lifted  him  a  point  every 


THE    RACE    BEGINS.  93 

day ;  but  he  was  sure  to  sink  back  under  the  weight 
of  the  first  hard  word. 

"  C-a-n,  can"  he  said,  and  stopped ;  then  plunged 
recklessly  forward,  "  s-i-l,  sil,  cansil." 

"  Wrong !     Next !  " 

And  the  word  came  to  Chase  at  the  head  of  the 
class.  This  gave  him  an  opportunity  he  had  been 
eagerly  looking  for.  He  knew  well  enough  how  to 
spell  the  word.  But  with  a  brazen  face,  and  in  a 
bold  voice,  he  gave  it,  — 

"  O-a-n,  can,  c-i-l" 

Everybody  was  astonished ;  nobody  more  so  than 
Worth. 

"Why,  Atway!"  said  the  master,  "you  know 
better  than  that." 

Chase  grinned,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Next.      Cancel:1 

And  Lem  spelt  the  word  right,  as  Chase  had  felt 
sure  he  would.  That  sent  him  above  his  champion, 
and  left  him  a  second  time  at  the  head.  After 
school,  boys  and  girls  flocked  about  Chase. 

"  O  Chase  !  you  did  it  a-purpose  !  you  did  it  a- 
purpose  !  "  they  clamored. 

But  nobody  could  make  him  say  whether  he  did 
or  not.  Worth  did  not  know  what  to  think.  He 
was  puzzled. 


94  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

The  evening  huskings  and  spelling-lessons  were 
kept  up  all  that  week,  and  it  turned  out  that  while 
Chase  was  helping  Lem,  he  was  also  helping  him- 
self. He  was  sure  not  to  let  any  one  get  above 
him,  until  in  the  regular  routine  he  followed  Lem  to 
the  foot ;  so  that  he  too  counted  one  for  the  prize. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  following  week, 
something  unexpected  occurred.  The  corn  being 
all  husked,  Chase  had  said  to  Lem,  "  Now  you  can 
take  care  of  yourself,  can't  you  ?  Get  your  sister 
to  drill  you  in  the  lessons." 

To  this  Lem  had  agreed.  And  he  studied  as 
hard  as  ever.  But  for  some  reason  he  began  to  fall 
back.  Again  he  stood  next  to  Chase,  who  was  at 
the  head ;  and  once  again  Chase  waited  for  a  chance 
to  let  him  go  up  and  make  another  count. 

The  chance  came  with  the  word  mullein.  Chase 
gave  Lem  a  nudge,  and  spelled  boldly,  — 

"  M-u-l,  mul,  e-i-n" 

Great  sensation  in  the  class.  Lem  was  pale  with 
apprehension.     Worth's  dark  eyes  shone. 

n  Next !  "  said  the  master.  Poor  Lem  had  spelled 
the  word  a  dozen  times  the  night  before ;  but  now, 
to  save  his  life,  he  couldn't  remember  the  right  way. 

The  truth  was,  Chase  had  previously  given  him 
something  besides  drill;   he   had   given   him   sym- 


THE    RACE    BEGINS.  95 

pa  thy,  spirit,  that  unaccountable  something  which 
sometimes  passes  from  another  mind  to  our  own, 
and  enables  us  to  do  what  we  could  never  do  with- 
out it.     From  his  sister  Lem  received  no  such  aid. 

"  M-u-l,  mul,  i-e-n"  he  stammered,  in  a  tremor 
of  fright. 

A  scowl  and  a  shrug  were  the  only  signs  of 
Chase's  irritation.  Hardly  anybody  rejoiced  at  the 
failure,  except,  perhaps,  Worth  Lankton,  who  was 
watching  like  a  lynx,  ready  to  snap  the  word  if  it 
should  come  to  him,  and  make  a  long  stride  to  the 
head.     Worth  stood  third  from  Lem. 

"  Incorrect,"  said  the  master,  slowly  and  regret- 
folly. 

And  the  word  passed  to  John  Rich.  w  M-u-l- 
l-i-e-n"  was  John's  unlucky  spelling. 

Chase  then  saw  only  one  pupil  standing  between 
him  and  fate,  — that  is,  between  him  and  Worth,  — 
waiting  to  go  up. 

That  one  was  Laura  Fosdick.  He  would  gladly 
have  given  place  to  her,  even  if  she  had  been  com- 
peting for  the  pocket-rifle.  But  she  was  not ;  only 
the  blue-and-gold  volumes  of  Mrs.  Browning  were 
within  the  scope  of  her  ambition. 

Laura  was  one  of  the  best  spellers  in  school,  and 
if  the  word  had  come  first  to  her,  she  would  not 


96  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

probably  have  missed  it.  But  she  had  had  time  to 
grow  confused  over  it. 

She  spelled  it  in  the  same  way  Chase  had  spelled 
it  in  the  first  place,  then  saw  instantly  that  she  was 
wrong,  and  wished  to  correct  herself.  But  it  was 
too  late. 

"I  was  thinking  Chase  spelled  it  m-u-l-l-e-i-n" 
she  said.  .  "  Of  course  I  knew  how  to  spell  it." 

Chase  threw  up  his  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Atway?" 

"That  isn't  fair;  she  has  told  them  below  her 
how  to  spell  it." 

"  And  you  are  telling  them  that  she  has  told  them 
right,"  said  Master  Cram.  "Lankton,  will  you 
spell  the  word  just  as  you  were  prepared  to  before 
these  last  remarks  were  made  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Worth,  promptly. 

He  spelled  the  word  in  a  strong,  clear  voice,  and 
passed  to  the  head.  There  he  remained.,  and  had 
the  triumph  that  night  of  counting  two  above  all 
competitors. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  Lem  said,  sorrowfully,  to 
Chase,  after  school. 

"I  know  you  couldn't,"  replied  Chase,  hiding  his 
chagrin.  "But  you  mustn't  let  such  a  thing  hap- 
pen another  time.  I  just  gave  myself  away,  that's 
all." 


THE    RACE   BEGINS.  97 

"Don't  do  it  again,"  said  Lem.     "You  mustn't 
lepend  on  me  ;  for  I  —  I'm  afraid  I  can't  keep  up." 

"  You  must  keep  up,"  exclaimed  Chase. 

He  said  all  in  his  power  to  restore  the  boy's  fail 
ing  courage.     At  the  same  time  he  secretly  resolved 
to  put  himself  forward  and  take  the  prize  himself  if 
Lem  should  fall  back. 

And  fall  back  the  unlucky  fellow  did  from  that 
time,  rapidly  enough.  Help  from  his  sister,  cheer- 
ing words  from  Chase,  availed  little.  He  had  ex- 
hausted his  strength,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he 
was  fourth,  and  then  fifth,  in  the  list  of  competitors. 


98  THE   POCKET-RIFLE, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NECK    AND    NECK. 

WORTH  continued  first,  and  Chase  second,  in 
competition  for  the  first  prize.  One  by  one 
the  other  pupils,  who  had  set  out  with  some  hope 
of  gaining  it,  gave  up ;  so  that,  before  the  end  of  a 
month,  they  two  were  left  alone  in  the  race. 

There  was  no  open  quarrel  between  them ;  but 
there  was  intense  rivalry  and  secret  resentment  still. 
They  joined  in  the  same  sports  with  the  other  boys, 
but  had  as  little  to  do  with  each  other  as  possible. 

One  day,  Worth  could  not  help  taunting  Chase 
with  his  former  pretence. 

"I  thought  you  were  not  going  to  try  for  the 
prize,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Well,  I'm  not,"  Chase  replied,  with  a  provoking 
laugh.     "I  am  going  to  get  it  without  trying." 

"Let's  see  you,"  exclaimed  Worth,  defiantly. 

"You  shall  have  that  satisfaction  if  you'll  wait 
patiently,"  said  Chase.  "  But  don't  be  in  a  hurry ; 
there'll  be  time  enough  before  the  winter  is  over.'; 

It  now  appeared  that  the  offer  of  prizes  was  pro- 


NECK   AND   NECK.  99 

dueing  very  different  results  from  those  anticipated 
by  Mr.  Pavode  and  Master  Cram.  If  the  school 
was  learning  to  spell,  it  was  not  from  unusual 
study,  but  from  watching  the  game  between  the 
real  competitors. 

The  system  worked  with  the  girls  much  in  the 
same  way  as  with  the  boys.  Laura  Fosdick  and 
Susan  Webb  soon  distanced  all  the  rest,  and  had 
the  field  to  themselves. 

In  the  strife  for  the  pocket-rifle  and  "Mrs. 
Browning,"  these  four  gave  their  days  and  nights  to 
their  spelling-books,  to  the  neglect  of  other  studies. 
And  certainly,  in  the  case  of  the  two  boys,  far  more 
serious  evils  resulted  from  the  struggle. 

In  justice  to  Chase,  however,  it  must  be  said  that, 
in  comparison  with  Worth,  he  was  really  not  "  try- 
ing" very  hard.  He  did  not  spend  half  so  much 
time  over  his  spelling-book,  although  he,  too,  gave 
to  it  more  than  he  could  afford. 

Worth  continued  to  lead  him  by  two  points,  until, 
one  day,  they  were  in  a  list  of  words  ending  in  eous 
and  tons,  preceded  by  c  or  t. 

These  slight  differences  in  syllables  pronounced 
alike  made  havoc  with  the  class  ;  and  at  last  Worth 
himself,  at  the  head,  failed  on  contumacious. 

The  word  reached  Chase,  four  places  below  him 


100  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Now  Chase  had  not  studied  the  lesson  so  much  as 
Worth  had,  but  he  had  studied  it  in  a  different  way. 
He  had  fortified  his  memory  by  association.  Thus 
he  had  connected  in  his  mind  cetaceous  with  ceta- 
cean; ostentatious  with  ostentation;  and  in  like 
manner,  contumacious  with  contumacy;  the  cy  of 
the  latter  word  guiding  him  to  the  ci  of  its  de- 
rivative. 

He  accordingly  spelled  the  word  with  easy  confi- 
dence, and  walked  above  Worth  to  the  head. 

As  he  had  passed  from  the  head  to  the  foot  only 
the  evening  before,  this  was  a  more  brilliant  triumph 
than  Worth  had  achieved  when  he  went  above  him 
on  the  word  mullein. 

It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  Worth.  He  was  now 
but  one  point  ahead ;  and  the  possibility  of  losing 
even  that  filled  him  with  consternation.  From 
that  day  he  studied  his  spelling-lessons  harder 
than  ever. 

At  last  the  speller  was  finished.  Worth  still 
stood  above  Chase ;  and  he  wished  that  the  prizes 
might  be  awarded  then  and  there.  But  a  week  still 
remained  before  the  winter  school  would  close,  and 
Master  Cram  decided  that  a  review  of  the  book  was 
next  in  order. 

In  going  over  the  old  lessons,  it  was  found  that 


NECK   AND   NECK.  101 

the  good  spellers  never  failed  on  a  really  hard  word  ; 
the  more  contorted  its  orthography,  the  more  firmly 
it  remained  fixed  in  the  memory.  But  now  and 
then  a  seemingly  simple  word  would  trip  even  the 
best. 

Both  Worth  and  Chase  made  curious  failures,  that 
week ;  but  the  words  they  missed  being  spelled  by 
others  of  the  class  standing  between  them,  they  did 
not  change  places. 

And  so  came  the  last  day  of  school,  and  the  last 
exercise  in  spelling,  which  was  to  decide  the  ques- 
tion of  the  principal  prize. 

As  Laura  Fosdick  was  four  points  above  her  only 
rival  among  the  girls,  she  rested  in  the  sweet  as- 
surance that  the  "  Mrs.  Browning  "  was  hers. 

But  the  struggle  between  the  competitors  for  the 
pocket-rifle  was  not  yet  over.  Worth  still  led  by  a 
single  point. 

But  Chase  now  stood  at  the  head,  and  if  he 
kept  his  place  that  day,  there  would  be  a  tie  be- 
tween them. 

The  word  separate  swept  the  class,  and  brought 
Worth,  who  had  passed  to  the  foot  the  night  before, 
once  more  to  Chase's  side.  Then  the  master  made 
this  proposition  : 

"  Since  you  are  all  out  of  the  competition  except 


102  THE    POCKET-BIFLE. 

Atway  and  Lankton,  I  think,  to  save  time,  I  will 
now  put  out  words  only  to  them." 

This  was  agreed  to ;  and  all  but  the  two  rivals 
went  to  their  seats. 

"And  now,"  said  Master  Cram,  "  since  neither  of 
you  can  win  the  prize  if  Atway  keeps  his  position, 
I  propose  that  the  first  miss  shall  decide  between 
you." 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  Chase. 

But  Worth,  fearing  to  lose  the  slightest  advan- 
tage, raised  objections. 

"If  he  misses,  and  I  go  up,  and  stay  up,  I  win 
the  prize  any  way,"  he  argued.  "  But  if  I  miss, 
standing  where  I  am,  I  don't  lose  anything,  and  he 
don't  gain  anything." 

"  But  neither  of  you  will  be  clearly  entitled  to  the 
prize,"  replied  Master  Cram. 

"Yes,"  Worth  insisted,  "I  ought  to  take  it,  for 
if  he  makes  his  point,  he  goes  below  me,  and  I  am 
still  ahead." 

"  But  you  don't  make  another  point,  for  there  is 
no  school  to-morrow,"  said  Master  Cram.  "And 
your  position  don't  show  that  you  are  the  best 
speller,  for  you  will  remember  that  he  voluntarily 
went  below  you  at  the  start,  when  he  was  entitled 
to  a  place  above." 


NECK   AND   NECK.  103 

"  But  he  gave  his  place  away,"  exclaimed  Worth. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Chase,  promptly;  "and  I  don't 
claim  anything  on  that  account.  Let  him  have  it 
all  his  own  way." 

The  master  hesitated,  — 

"  I  think  the  plan  I  propose  is  perfectly  fair  ;  and 
I  will  leave  it  to  a  vote  of  the  class.  I  will  give 
out  words  with  perfect  impartiality ;  and  when  one 
misses  a  word,  the  other,  if  he  spells  it  correctly 
after  him,  takes  the  prize." 

This  plan  was  submitted  to  the  class,  and  there 
was  a  unanimous  vote  in  its  favor.  Worth  did  not 
vote  at  all,  but  looked  his  dissatisfaction. 

Then  the  spelling  began.  The  class,  the  whole 
school  indeed,  watched  the  game  with  intense  in- 
terest;  some  with  their  spellers  open,  endeavoring 
to  follow  the  master  as  he  skipped  from  page  to 
page. 

Chase  came  near  going  down  on  innuendo,  but 
caught  himself  just  in  time,  and  slipped  in  the  n  he 
had  barely  escaped  omitting. 

"  It  is  sometimes  spelt  without  the  second  n,"  he 
said,  laughing. 

"Yes,  but  incorrectly,  according  to  our  author- 
ity," said  the  master,  turning  the  leaves.  "  Insep- 
arability," 


104  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Worth  spelled  correctly. 

M  Impenetrability." 

Chase  also  spelled  without  a  mistake.  Master 
Cram  was  about  turning  the  leaves  again,  but  paused 
to  pronounce —  "Indefensibility  " 

Worth  hesitated. 

John  Rich  had  now  had  time  to  find  the  page, 
and  he  put  his  finger  on  the  word.  Lem  Pavode 
looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  it. 

Now,  Lem,  since  he  had  given  up  the  prize,  was, 
in  the  ardor  of  his  gratitude,  extremely  anxious  that 
Chase  should  get  it,  and  he  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
excited  spectator  of  the  game. 

Worth,  flushed  and  agitated,  drawing  deep,  un- 
equal breaths,  deliberated  long ;  then  ventured,  — 

"  I-n,  in,  d-e,  de,f-e-n,fen" — 

Here,  unhappily,  his  mind  ran  off  on  the  familiar 
ending  of  the  previous  words,  —  ability,  and  he 
proceeded,  as  if  he  had  been  treading  among  eggs, 
5-a,  sa,  b-i-l,  bil"  — 

No  need  of  his  going  further.  He  knew  by  the 
sensation  in  the  school,  and  especially  by  the  gleam 
of  joy  that  lighted  up  Lem's  face,  that  he  had  made 
a  fatal  blunder. 

Lem  could  not  refrain  from  screwing  up  one 
eye,  to  indicate  the  letter  missed.     Worth  saw  it. 


NECK   AND   NECK. 


105 


Unfortunately,  Chase  saw  it,  too ;  for  Lem  sat  im- 
mediately before  them,  looking  over  John's  finger 
on  the  page. 

Chase  spelled,  however  (so  he  always  declared), 
precisely  as  he  was  going  to  do  before  Lem  made 
his  sign.     And  the  master  said,  — 

"Correct.  Chase  Atway,  you  have  won  the 
prize." 


106  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    PRIZES. 

THEN,  when  all  was  over,  Master  Cram  made  a 
little  speech,  in  which  he  praised  both  boys  for 
their  industry,  congratulated  Chase  on  his  success, 
and  reminded  Worth  that  it  was  necessary  one  of 
them  should  lose. 

Meanwhile,  Worth  had  become  quite  pale ;  and 
he  listened  with  a  stunned  expression,  as  if  without 
heeding  a  word. 

"I  consider,"  the  master  went  on,  "  and  I  am  sure 
the  whole  school  believes,  that  the  trial  has  been  a 
fair  one.  And  I  trust  that  it  will  leave  no  traces  of 
envy  or  heart-burning  with  any  of  you.  Whatever 
irritation  may  have  been  caused  by  it  should  be  for- 
gotten." 

Chase  nodded  expressively.  Now  that  he  had 
carried  his  point,  he  almost  pitied  Worth,  and 
yearned  to  take  him  once  more  to  his  heart. 

But  Worth  stood  stern  and  dazed. 

Then,  having  said  a  good  word  to  the  girls,  Mas- 
ter Cram  presented  the  prizes. 


THE   PRIZES.  107 

Chase  did  not  try  to  conceal  his  delight  when  im 
beautiful  pocket-rifle  was  finally  put  into  his  hands. 

It  seemed  almost  like  a  dream  that  the  prize 
which  he  for  a  long  while  had  no  thought  of  win- 
ning, —  which  he  had  even  hoped  at  first  might  be 
won  by  his  friend,  —  should  at  last  be  his. 

But  with  this  joy  came  also  the  thought  of  his 
friend  —  his  friend  now  no  more  ;  and  a  feeling  of 
pain  was  mingled  with  his  triumph. 

He  was  the  hero  of  the  hour ;  and  when  school 
was  out,  the  boys  all  came  about  him,  to  declare 
that  they  knew  all  the  while  he  would  beat,  and  to 
have  another  good  look  at  the  fine  pocket-rifle. 

Worth,  however,  said  nothing.  He  silently  gath- 
ered up  his  books,  and  started  for  home. 

Chase  watched  him  furtively ;  and,  pocket-rifle  in 
hand,  with  his  books  strapped  together,  hastened  to 
overtake  him. 

The  winter  had  passed  since  their  troubles  began. 
It  was  now  March  weather;  the  snow  was  nearly 
gone,  except  on  the  high  mountain  sides ;  and  the 
roads  were  muddy. 

As  Worth  was  slowly  picking  his  way  along, 
Chase  came  up  with  him. 

"Well,"  he  began,  in  a  friendly  tone,  "school  is 
over  for  you  and  me  till  next  fall  again." 


108  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  Worth. 

"And,  see  here,  Worth,"  Chase  went  on,  with 
generous  feeling,  "this  wretched  business  of  com* 
peting  for  the  prize  is  over,  too." 

"Not  very  wretched  for  you,  as  it  turns  out," 
Worth  replied. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Chase.  "I  told 
you  once  —  and  I  meant  it  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  —  that  there  were  other  things  of  greater  im- 
portance than  a  prize,  or  the  honor  of  gaining  a 
prize." 

"I  remember  it,"  said  Worth,  with  a  strange 
smile. 

"I  think  so  more  than  ever  now,"  Chase  pro- 
ceeded. "  You  and  I  are  not  what  we  were  to  each 
other  when  school  began ;  and  I'd  give  a  cord  of 
pocket-rifles,  if  I  had  them,  to  be  back  where  we 
were,  with  no  such  bad  feelings  between  us." 

"  So  would  I,"  exclaimed  Worth,  with  one  of  his 
emphatic  gestures. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Chase,  with 
glistening  eyes.     "Let's  be  friends  again." 

"  I  wish  we  might ;  "  and  Worth  heaved  a  big  sigh. 

"As  for  this  pocket-rifle,  it  shall  be  just  as  much 
yours  as  mine.  It's  really  a  nice  thing."  Chase 
held  it  out  towards  his  friend.     K See?" 


THE    PRIZES.  109 

"Oh,  yes;  I  see." 

But  Worth  did  not  offer  to  take  it. 

"I  shall  send  to  town,  the  first  chance,  and  buy  a 
box  of  metallic  cartridges  ;  and  then  you  and  I  will 
have  great  fun  shooting  at  marks.  We'll  take  it 
with  us,  too,  when  we  go  a-hunting.  I'll  lend  it  to 
you  whenever  you  want  it." 

Worth  gave  another  strange  smile. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Chase,  to  change  the  subject, 
"  when  are  we  going  up  on  the  mountain,  to  tumble 
olf  that  big  rock,  as  we  once  agreed?" 

"  I  haven't  thought  of  that  since,"  replied  Worth. 

They  had  now  reached  Mr.  Atway's  house. 
Worth  was  going  by  again,  as  he  had  kept  up  the 
habit  of  doing  all  winter,  when  Chase  stopped  him. 

"Come,  Worth!  what's  the  use?  Show  that  we 
are  really  friends  again  by  going  home  the  old  way 
for  once." 

"Certainly;  I'll  go  that  way,  and  be  glad  to," 
said  Worth,  turning  in  at  the  gate.  "  I  didn't  know 
that  you  wanted  me  to." 

"  Of  course  I  want  you  to  !  " 

Chase  accompanied  him  to  the  head  of  the  lane. 

"  Come  up  into  the  sugar-bush  some  afternoon, 
won't  you?  "  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  at  work  there  all 
next  week." 


110  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

K  I'll  come  and  help  you,"  replied  Worth.  M  I  owe 
you  some  work,  you  know." 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  Chase  protested.  "But  I 
shall  have  the  cartridges  by  that  time ;  and  we'll 
practise  firing  at  a  target  while  watching  the  kettles." 

To  this  Worth  readily  agreed.  They  stopped  to 
talk  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  at  parting  Chase  put 
out  his  hand. 

Worth  hesitated  a  moment,  then  took  it.  He  held 
it  tremblingly,  and  when  he  seemed  about  to  let  it 
go,  gripped  and  wrung  it  again,  looking  Chase  ear- 
nestly in  the  face. 

w  Chase,"  he  said,  w  if  I  could  only  ses  you  as  you 
used  to  be  !  " 

"  It  shan't  be  my  fault  if  you  don't,"  Chase  an- 
swered, with  responsive  emotion. 

"Whose  fault,  then?  "  said  Worth.  "  If  you  are 
not  what  I  once  thought  you,  that  is  something  I 
can't  help  ;  I  can  only  grieve  over  it." 

"Well,  I  have  had  something  to  grieve  over,  too," 
replied  Chase,  after  an  involuntary  start  backward. 
"  But  what  is  past  is  past.     Let's  forget  it." 

"What  have  you  to  grieve  over?"  cried  Worth. 
"  You  have  played  your  game  ;  you  have  won  ;  and 
well  you  may  say,  ?  Forget  the  past ! '" 

"Why  do  you  speak  in  that  way?"  said  Chase, 


THE    PRIZES.  Ill 

reproachfully.  "  I  think  I  have  as  much  to  forget 
as  anybody.  Yes  !  "  he  exclaimed,  w  I  take  it  to  my- 
self when  I  say,  '  Let's  forget.' " 

Worth  turned  abruptly  away,  and  Chase  thought 
he  was  going.  But  he  stopped  to  hurl  back  these 
words,  with  a  dark  and  lowering  look  : 

w  Do  you  have  to  forget  that  your  friend  turned 
traitor  and  deceived  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  for  that  matter,"  replied  Chase,  flaring 
up  ;  "  that  is  just  what  I  have  to  forget." 

w  Do  you  mean  to  say  "  —  began  Worth,  striding 
toward  him  with  clenched  fist. 

w  Don't  strike  me !  "  cried  Chase,  and  he  bran- 
dished the  pocket-rifle. 


112  THE   POCKET-RLFLE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   OUTBURST. 

THREATEN  me  with  that,  will  you?  "  said  Worth, 
in  a  choking  fury.  "  The  prize  that  should  have 
been  mine  —  that  is  mine,  by  right  —  to  have  it  held 
over  my  head  by  the  fellow  who  has  robbed  me  of 
it !     That's  of  a  piece  with  all  your  other  actions." 

"I  —  robbed  you  of  it !  "  Chase  repeated,  almost 
too  indignant  to  speak. 

"Of  course  you  did.  I  saw  Lem  Pavode  give 
you  the  sign  for  spelling  the  word  I  missed." 

"  Do  you  think  I  couldn't  have  spelt  that  easy  word 
without  help?     You  disgust  me,  Worth  Lankton  !  " 

It  was  now  Chase's  turn  to  move  angrily  away. 

"That  was  only  one  of  many  things,"  Worth 
called  after  him.  "  It  was  all  unfair.  The  master 
and  the  whole  school  were  against  me.  Come  !  don't 
run  off  like  a  coward.  Let's  have  it  out,  now  we've 
begun." 

"All  right!"  exclaimed  Chase.  "  And  you'll  see 
whether  I'm  a  coward.  The  school  ivas  against  you  ; 
do  you  know  why  ?     Because  you  insisted  on  things 


THE    OUTBURST.  113 

that  were  mean  and  dishonorable.     That's  just  the 
truth  about  it." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  eh  ?  Then  why  were  you  so  anxious  to 
make  friends  with  me  again,  if  I  am  such  a  villain?" 

"  Because  I  wished  to  be  generous.  And  be- 
cause," said  Chase,  "I  hoped  that  you  would  now 
come  to  your  senses,  which  you  appeared  to  have 
lost  the  minute  this  prize  was  offered." 

"  It  is  fine  for  you  to  talk  of  honor,  and  losing 
one's  senses!"  retorted  Worth.  "What  did  the 
prize  do  to  you  ?  A  the  very  time  you  were  pretend- 
ing that  you  wanted  me  to  win  it,  you  and  Lem 
Pavode  were  plotting  together  to  keep  it  from  me. 
I  saw  you  that  first  night  in  the  barn." 

"No  doubt  you  spied  in  upon  us  if  you  had  a 
chance,"  returned  Chase.  "If  Lem  could  do  the 
husking  you  shirked,  of  course  /  felt  bound  to  help 
him.  And  I  did  want  him  to  win;  I'll  tell  you 
why." 

"  Do  ! "  said  Worth. 

"  Because,  the  Saturday  night  before,"  Chase  went 
on,  "after  you  had  refused  to  go  with  me  to  the 
school-house  and  get  our  spellers,  you  went  and 
stole  in  without  me,  and  carried  yours  home,  —  and 
to  school,  buttoned  under  your  coat  the  next  Mon- 
day, —  and  skulked  and  deceived  me  about  it,  or 


114  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

tried  to  deceive  me,  to  the  last.  But  I  saw  through 
you  all  the  while." 

Worth  was  so  amazed  that  he  stood  and  heard  all 
this  without  a  word. 

"  Could  I  forgive  or  forget  that  ?  "  said  Chase.  "I 
thought  I  could  just  now,  but  I  never  can.  From 
first  to  last  you  have  acted  a  part  of  meanness  and 
treachery.  Now  you  know  all,  and  all  is  over  be- 
tween us." 

Once  more  he  walked  away,  carrying  his  head 
high,  and  swinging  the  pocket-rifle. 

Worth  watched  him  till  he  disappeared  in  the 
shed,  and  then  turned  and  went  down  the  lane,  still 
without  uttering  a  word. 

"Were  you  having  high  words  with  Worth  just 
now?"  Mrs.  Atway  asked,  as  her  son  came  into  the 
house. 

"  I  should  think  so,  rather !  "  Chase  replied,  in  a 
state  of  excitement. 

"  I  thought  you  were  on  good  terms  again  when 
you  came  into  the  yard  together,  and  I  was  so  glad 
to  see  it." 

"  So  we  were,  or  seemed  to  be." 

"Why,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Atway,  "how  did  it 
happen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  can't  remember ;  it  was  so  aw- 


THE    OUTBURST.  11 J 

fully  sudden,"  replied  Chase.    "I  said  something,  ol 
he  did,  I  don't  know  what  or  why  !  " 

"  I  am  so  sorry  !  so  sorry  !  "  said  his  mother. 

w  You  needn't  be ;  I  am  all  right ;  I  shall  never 
try  to  make  up  with  him  again.  I  never  saw  such 
a  fellow." 

And  Chase  recalled  what  he  could  of  the  talk  that 
led  to  the  outburst. 

"  It  was  like  firing  a  boy's  Fourth-of-July  cannon," 
he  declared.  "  All  the  quarrel  we  have  had  up  to 
this  time  was  only  the  burning  of  the  priming.  That 
stopped.  Fire  all  out ;  couldn't  see  a  spark  ;  every- 
thing quiet ;  you  could  take  it  to  your  bosom.  Then 
all  at  once  —  bans: !  " 

Mrs.  Atway  gave  a  sad  smile  as  she  went  on  set- 
ting the  supper-table.  She  knew  his  impulsive  na- 
ture. 

"  You  make  merry  over  it  now  because  you  are 
excited.  But  you'll  feel  bad  enough  when  you  come 
to  think  it  over.  It's  a  sad  thing  to  have  a  quarrel 
with  an  old  friend  and  a  neighbor." 

"That's  so,"  said  Chase.  "But  I've  got  the 
pocket-rifle.     You  haven't  looked  at  it  yet." 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Atway,  "and  I  don't  care  to, 
since  it  has  been  the  cause  of  your  trouble.  Put  it 
away." 


116  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Chase  rather  ruefully  hung  it  up  by  the  skeleton* 
breech  on  a  hook  in  the  entry. 

"  And  now,  my  son,"  she  went  on,  "  you  must 
begin  to  think  of  something  else.     You  would  have 


been  taken  out  of  school  two  weeks  ago  to  help 
about  the  sugar-making  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
prize  you  wanted  to  stay  and  win.  You've  got  it 
now,  the  winter  school  is  over,  and  you  must  think 
about  work." 

w  That's  so  !  "  Chase  replied  again ;  "  but  remem- 
ber, xaU  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy} 


THE    OUTBURST. 


111 


—  especially  when  he  has  a  pocket-rifle  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  ! " 

"  Don't  leave  your  books  here  on  the  table  ! n  cried 
his  mother,  as  he  was  going  to  his  room. 

"I'll  take  care  of  'em  by-and-by,"  he  replied, 
carelessly. 

"That  means,  I  shall  have  them  to  take  care  of 
myself,  as  it  almost  always  turns  out.  Take  them 
now  !  "  she  insisted. 

So  Chase  laughingly  went  b?ck  and  got  his  books, 
knowing  very  well  how  much  trouble  his  boyish 
negligence  often  gave  her. 

Her  eyes  followed  him  lovingly.  He  was  a  good 
son,  and  she  was  a  most  tender  and  affectionate 
mother. 

"  After  all,"  thought  she,  espousing  his  side  in  the 
quarrel  far  more  warmly  than  she  cared  to  let  him 
know,  "  I  can't  blame  him  for  breaking  off  with  that 
Lankton  boy ! " 

And  she  felt  proud  of  his  brave  and  manly  spirit. 

Chase  took  off  his  school-suit,  and  put  on  some 
old  farm-clothes ;  then  went  out  to  do  the  usual 
evening  chores. 

He  had  the  pigs  to  feed,  the  horses  to  water,  and 
the  cows  to  milk ;  and  he  set  himself  cheerily 
about  these  tasks.     During  the  winter,  he  had  had 


118  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

his  father's  help  in  doing  them ;  but  now  Mr.  Atway 
was  at  work  in  the  sugar-bush  with  his  hired  man. 

The  box  of  metallic  cartridges  was  sent  for  the 
next  day.  It  cost  seventy-five  cents ;  but  Chase 
had  money  of  his  own  which  his  father  had  allowed 
him  to  earn  in  various  ways,  so  that  he  was  always 
able  to  buy  his  own  ammunition. 

That  was  Saturday.  The  loaded  shells  did  not 
come  until  night ;  and  he  had  to  wait  over  Sunday 
—  how  impatiently,  no  boy  needs  to  be  told  —  for 
an  opportunity  to  try  a  shot. 

Mr.  Atway 's  sugar-bush  was  a  part  of  the  very 
woods  Chase  and  Worth  hpd  traversed  that  Saturday 
afternoon,  months  before,  whan  they  went  hunting 
up  on  the  mountain-side.  And  now,  when  the 
longed-for  Monday  came,  the  forest  arches  might 
have  been  heard  ringing  again,  not  with  loud  fowl- 
ing-pieces, but  with  the  sharper  reports  of  the  pocket- 
rifle. 

Chase  had  always  been  a  favorite  with  his  school- 
fellows, and  now  the  possession  of  so  desirable  a 
plaything  made  him  more  popular  than  ever. 

Worth  Lankton  saw  John  Rich  and  Lem  Pavode 
cross  the  intervale  and  go  up  into  the  woods  above 
the  pastures  that  Monday ;  and  he  wandered  near 
enough   to   hear   shouts   of    laughter   break  in   as 


THE    OUTBURST.  11? 

chorus  to  the  rifle-shots,  filling  the  forests  with  glad 
sounds. 

But  they  were  not  glad  sounds  to  Worth. 

He  knew  very  well  that  he  might  have  been  one 
of  that  merry  party.  He  knew,  too,  that  it  was 
more  his  fault  than  anybody's  else  that  he  was  cut 
off  from  these  boyish  sports.  But  reflections  of 
that  sort  did  not  soothe  him ;  on  the  contrary  they 
added  thorns  to  his  sense  of  wronff. 


120  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XVILL 

THE   CATTLE   MAKE   MISCHIEF. 

HE  had  his  dog  with  him.  It  was  a  young  dog, 
that  had  been  in  the  possession  of  the  family 
but  a  few  months  ;  a  great,  gaunt,  yellowish-brown 
puppy,  full  of  savage  play. 

As  Worth  was  crossing  the  upland  with  this  brute, 
he  saw  a  sight  which,  in  his  present  mood,  prompted 
him  to  mischief. 

Old  Whiteface  had  not  leaped  any  fence  lately. 
The  hamper  Chase  suggested  had  been  put  on  him, 
and  kept  on,  when  he  was  let  into  the  pasture  in 
the  fall ;  and  he  had  not  yet  been  turned  out  that 
spring. 

But  the  cattle  were  now  roaming  about.  And 
the  fences  were  worse  than  ever.  And  it  chanced 
that  a  half-demolished  haystack,  over  in  Mr.  Lank- 
ton's  meadow,  attracted  their  attention. 

To  hungry  yearlings  that  have  been  fed  on  corn- 
fodder  all  winter,  a  change  of  diet  is  acceptable ; 
and  even  sober  old  cows  that  have  been  more  gener- 


THE    CATTLE    MAKE   MISCHIEF.  127 

ously  nourished  may  be  excused  for  tossing  up  thek 
horns  and  growing  frolicsome,  on  a  March  afternoon, 
at  the  sight  of  an  inviting  stack. 

At  that  time  of  year  the  young  grass  and  clover 
have  hardly  begun  to  sprout ;  the  pastures  but  pro- 
voke an  appetite  they  cannot  appease ;  and  hay  is 
hay. 

How  the  drove  got  over  the  fence  was  no  great 
mystery.  Even  the  enclosure  about  the  stack  was 
but  a  poor  affair  ;  and  in  crowding  for  the  sweet  red- 
top  and  timothy  they  had  soon  broken  that  down. 

And  there,  voraciously  feeding,  or  tearing  the 
stack  with  their  wanton  horns,  they  were  discovered 
by  Worth,  returning  from  the  upland  with  his  dog. 

Now,  Worth  Lankton  was  by  no  means  a  cruel 
boy.  But  he  was  very  angry  —  angry  with  Chase, 
and  everything  that  belonged  to  him.  The  sight  of 
a  neighbor's  cattle  doing  such  damage  would  have 
been  irritating  at  any  time.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
in  his  present  mood  he  was  inflamed  with  unreasoning 
passion. 

Besides,  with  a  boy's  pride  in  a  new  dog,  he  had 
long  wished  for  a  chance  to  prove  his  prowess  by 
setting  him  on  to  something  big. 

He  started  forward,  and  caught  up  a  stick,  mut- 
tering, — 


,22  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"We've  been  troubled  enough  with  Atway's 
creatures,  one  way  and  another !  I'll  put  a  stop 
to  it.     Come,  Nero  !  " 

Nero  sprang  to  his  master's  side,  eager  for  the 
sport. 

It  was  Worth's  intention,  with  the  club  he  had 
caught  up,  and  with  smart  punishment  from  the  dog, 
to  drive  the  cattle  back  into  the  field  where  they 
belonged. 

But  a  savagely-inclined,  unpractised  puppy  is  not 
easy  to  manage  in  the  excitement  of  battle,  —  if 
that  can  be  called  a  battle  which  was  a  mere  rout 
of  the  invaders. 

No  doubt  it  was  a  wild  triumph  to  Nero  to  see 
the  whole  drove,  a  dozen  cows  and  yearlings,  take 
to  flight,  and  carry  their  horns  away  in  mad  panic, 
while  he  dashed  after  them  furiously,  barking,  snap- 
ping, and  dodging  their  heels. 

It  was  joy  to  the  dog's  master,  too.  He  cried, 
K  Seek  !  seek  'em,  Nero  !  "  and  hurled  his  revolving 
club. 

But  the  cantering  cattle  had,  in  their  alarm, 
started  off  in  the  wrong  direction.  Instead  of  re- 
treating to  their  own  pasture,  they  plunged  blindly 
away  across  the  enemy's  country. 

Seeing  this,  Worth  tried  to  call  off  his  dog.     But 


THE    CATTLE   MAKE   MISCHIEF.  123 

Xero  was  deaf  and  blind  to  everything  but  the  sport 
of  which  he  was  having  his  first  maddening  taste. 

"  Stop  'em  I  Head  'em  off!  "  Worth  called  out  to 
a  man  approaching  from  the  other  side  of  the  field. 

But  the  man  simply  stood  still,  and  watched  the 
show  sweep  by. 

"  Curis,  ain't  it,"  he  said,  "to  see  a  crowd  of  crit- 
ters like  that  turn  tail  for  a  pup  they  might  hook  to 
death  in  five  minutes,  if  they  only  knowed  how? 
So  much  for  ignorance;  not  knowin'  how  to  look 
after  their  own  interests,"  he  added,  with  a  droll 
wink,  and  a  twitch  of  one  side  of  his  face. 

The  man  was,  in  fact,  our  philosophical  friend, 
Jim  Lathbrook,  whom  we  first  saw  lying  on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  great  boulder  on  the  mountain 
crest. 

Worth  paid  no  attention  to  his  remarks,  but  ex- 
claimed angrily,  — 

"Why  didn't  you  stop  'em?  I  told  you  to,  you 
lazy  lummox  !  " 

"  Stop  'em !  "  Jim  Lathbrook  repeated,  with  a 
sarcastic  grin.  "  That  would  be  an  easy  thing, 
wouldn't  it,  with  a  yelpin'  cur  at  their  heels,  and  a 
yellin'  boy  with  a  club  !  " 

Worth  slackened  his  pace,  out  of  breath. 

"  Ye  can't  blame  the  cattle  for  runnin'  the  wrong 


124  THE    POCKET-KIFLE. 

way,"  said  Jim.  "  I  seen  you  pitch  into  'em  ;  I  seen 
you  club  and  dog  'em.  I  may  be  a  lazy  lummox, 
but  I'm  glad  I  ain't  the  boy  that  tries  to  drive  out  a 
neighbor's  cows  in  that  fashion." 

There  was  too  keen  an  edge  of  truth  to  these 
words  for  Worth  not  to  feel  cut  by  them.  He 
would  never  have  believed  that  a  time  could  come 
when  he  would  wish  to  defend  his  conduct  in  the 
eyes  of  so  low  a  fellow  as  Jim  Lathbrook.  But  it 
had  come  now. 

"We've  borne  enough  from  Atway's  creatures, 
and  I've  got  tired  of  it,"  he  explained,  passing  on. 

w  Cattle  ain't  to  blame  ;  why  beat  and  dog  them?" 
said  Jim. 

"  Would  you  have  me  beat  and  dog  their  own- 
ers ?  "  cried  Worth. 

"  No,  not  unless  I  was  bigger  and  smart er'n  you 
be,"  said  Jim,  his  narrow  gray  eyes  sparkling; 
"might  be  dangerous.  But  I'll  tell  ye  what  I  would 
do.  I'd  drive  their  cattle  into  my  own  yard,  and 
shet  'em  up,  and  make  their  owners  come  for  'em, 
and  give  'em  a  good  lesson  when  they  did  come  ! " 

"  By  George  !  you're  right !  "  exclaimed  Worth. 
r  I  never  thought  of  that." 

Jim's  eye  twitched  vivaciously. 

"  The    Damon-and-Pythias    business   has   ruther 


THE    CATTLE    MAKE   MISCHIEF.  125 

played  out,  hain't  it?  "  he  called  after  Worth  as  he 
was  hurrying  away.  "  Say  !  remember  what  I  said 
to  ye  that  day  up  on  the  mountain  there  ?  " 

Worth  deigned  no  reply,  and  Jim  contented  him- 
self with  casting  his  eyes  carelessly  up  at  the  great 
dark  boulder,  still  hanging  there  on  the  brown 
mountain  crag,  revealed  against  the  afternoon  sky. 

Meanwhile,  Worth's  brother  Tim,  attracted  by 
the  barking  and  shouting,  came  running  to  see  the 
sport. 

He  reached  the  fence  which  the  cattle  were  ap- 
proaching, when  Worth  called  out  to  him, — 

"  Let  down  three  or  four  rails  !  I  want  to  drive 
'em  through  !     Quick !  " 

Down  went  a  corner  of  the  fence  under  the  hands 
of  the  excited  Tim. 

"Now  stand  one  side,  and  help  hustle  'em 
through  !  "  yelled  Worth. 

A  minute  later,  the  rails  were  put  up  again,  with 
the  cattle  on  the  further  side,  and  Nero  still  after 
them. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Tim  asked. 

"  I'll  show  you,  and  I'll  show  Chase  Atway,  too !  * 
Teplied  Worth.     "  Come  on  1 " 


126  THE   FOCXET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN   THE    SUGAR-BUSH. 

JIM  LATHBROOK  lounged  away  towards  the 
rocky  upland,  glancing  back  occasionally,  and 
finally  disappeared  in  the  woods. 

An  occasional  crack  of  the  pocket-rifle  was  still 
heard.  It  grew  louder  as  he  advanced,  and  soon  he 
discovered  the  boys  at  their  sport. 

Near  the  camp-fire  and  boiling  kettles  was  a  hut 
of  rough  boards,  built  to  replace  a  sugar-house  that 
had  been  burnt  two  years  before.  It  was  used  for 
storing  sap-buckets,  and  for  sheltering  those  who 
remained  to  tend  the  kettles  in  bad  weather  and  at 
night. 

On  the  side  of  this  hut  was  pinned  a  newspaper, 
with  a  dead  leaf  at  the  centre.  That  was  the  tar- 
get. 

All  around  were  the  sturdy  stems  and  open 
spaces  of  the  great  woods,  with  sap-buckets  under 
dripping  spiles  at  every  maple-trunk.  The  mighty 
tops,  high  above,  were  bare,  and  through  them 
could  be  seen  slowly-drifting,  mottled  clouds,  like 


IN   THE    SUGAR-BUSH.  127 

crowded  fleeces  of  white  wool,  with  here  and  there 
patches  of  blue  sky. 

The  run  of  sap  was  about  over  for  the  day.  Mr. 
Atway  and  his  hired  man  were  gathering  it  up  from 
the  buckets  in  a  distant  part  of  the  sugar-bush. 
Chase,  left  to  keep  the  fire  burning,  and  the  kettles 
supplied,  was  sitting  on  a  log,  talking  with  John 
Rich  and  Lem  Pavode,  and  loading  his  pocket-rifle. 

"That's  a  dreffle  cute  thing!"  said  Jim  Lath- 
brook,  coming  up.  "  I've  seen  it  afore  to-day.  The 
chap  that  boarded  with  Lem's  folks  used  to  have  it ; 
said  it  cost  him  a  dozen  dollars  in  Boston." 

"  Would  you  like  to  try  a  shot  with  it,  Jim  ?  " 
said  Chase,  generously. 

"Guess  them  little  bits  of  ca'tridges  cost  ye 
suthin',  don't  they?"  said  Jim,  with  his  one-sided 
wink  and  twitch.  "  I  don't  mind  sp'ilin'  one  for  ye, 
though,  if  you  say  so." 

"You  may  spoil  one  since  I  ask  you  to,"  replied 
Chase ;  "  and  you're  always  welcome  to  a  drink  of 
syrup  when  you're  invited." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  Jim,  pausing 
as  he  was  about  to  take  aim. 

"  They  do  say,"  laughed  Chase,  "  that  you  make  it 
a  point  to  come  this  way  whenever  you  go  up  over 
the  mountain,  and  that  you  do  manage,  you  and 


128  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

your  wife,  between  you,  to  make  away  with  a  quan 
tity  of  syrup  !  " 

"  That's  some  of  your  hired  man's  nonsense,  I 
know,"  said  Jim,  with  a  wink.  "  Me  and  your 
father's  old  friends,  and  he's  too  big-hearted  a  man 
to  begrutch  me  a  drop  of  hot  maple  syrup  now  and 
then  on  a  cold  day,  I  can  swear !  " 

So  saying,  he  fired  his  shot.  While  the  boys 
walked  up  to  the  target,  he  stopped  at  the  kettles, 
took  down  a  long-handled  dipper  from  its  nail  in  a 
tree,  dipped  up  about  a  pint  of  the  steaming  dark 
liquor  from  the  "  sweet  kettle,"  and  half  sunk  it  in  a 
cask  of  fresh  sap,  to  cool  it. 

"  O  Jim  !  you  didn't  come  within  half  a  yard  of 
the  leaf ! "  cried  Chase  from  the  hut,  after  finding 
the  hole  cut  by  the  little  bullet  in  the  newspaper. 

"  Wal,  I  didn't  expect  to,"  said  Jim,  taking  the 
dipper  out  of  the  sap  and  beginning  to  blow  and  sip 
the  syrup.  M  But  le'  me  take  that  pop-gun  and  prac- 
tise with  it  some  day,  and  then  I'll  show  you  what 
shootin'  is." 

He  blew  and  sipped,  and  added,  — 

"  I'm  a  friend  of  yours,  Chase ;  and  le'  me  tell 
you,  if  I  was  in  your  place  I'd  be  usin'  up  my 
ca'tridges  and  shootin'  at  suthin'  'sides  a  dead  leaf 
on  the  side  of  a  shanty.     There's  game  for  ye  down 


IN  THE   SUGAR-BUSH.  129 

there  in  the  valley,  if  you  only  knowed  it,"  — 
sip,  sip. 

"What  game?"  cried  Chase. 

"That  yaller  pup  of  Lankton's.  He  was  givin' 
your  cows  Jesse,  I  tell  you,  as  I  come  up  past  the 
meaders  jest  now." 

"  He  was  after  our  cows  !  " 

"Yes,  and  Worth  Lankton — your  Damon-Pythias 
feller  —  he  was  after  'em,  too,  with  a  club;  and 
'twixt  'em  both"  —  sip,  sip,  again  —  "  the  poor  crit- 
ters was  gittin'  ruther  the  wust  on't." 

Chase  flared  up  with  sudden  excitement.  Target 
and  sap-kettles  were  forgotten. 

"  Are  you  joking,  Jim  Lathbrook  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  much  of  a  joke  about  it,"  said  Jim. 
*  Anyhow  the  cattle  didn't  seem  to  think  there  was. 
If  it  ain't  jes'  's  I  tell  ye,"  he  added,  holding  the 
dipper  ready  for  another  sip,  "  I  hope  I  may  never 
drink  anything  so  good  as  this  ag'in  !  " 

"  Did  he  get  'em  back  into  our  pasture  ?  "  cried 
Chase. 

"  No  ;  he  druv  'em  home  to  his  own  yard ;  guess 
you  can  see  'em  now  from  the  rocky  knolls  below 
here,"  said  Jim. 

"  Boys,  I'm  going  for  'em !  "  exclaimed  Chase. 
*Will  you  stay  and  tend  the  kettles?" 


130  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"I'll  go  and  help  you  get  the  cattle,"  said  Leni 
Pavode. 

"  And  I'll  go  and  see  the  fun,"  said  John  Rich ; 
"  and  help  a  little,  if  necessary." 

"I'll  tend  the  kittles,"  said  Jim  Lathhrook. 

"  And  when  pa  comes  with  the  sap,  tell  him  where 
I've  gone,"  cried  Chase,  starting  off  with  his  com- 
panions, pocket-rifle  in  hand. 

Jim  watched  them. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  fun,  too,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  But  I  guess  there'll  be  about  as  much  satis- 
faction loafin'  here  by  the  fire.  Quarrels  is  interest- 
in',  but  they  don't  pay." 

And  he  drank  and  winked. 


THE   POCKET-RIFLE    COMES   IN    PLAY.  I31i 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   POCKET-RIFLE   COMES   IN  PLAY. 

MEANWHILE,  having  driven  the  cattle  into  his 
father's  barnyard,  and  put  up  the  bars,  Worth 
Lankton  pulled  Nero  away  from  them  by  main  force, 
and  with  Tim's  help  got  a  rope  around  his  neck. 

He  sat  on  an  overturned  measure  in  the  open 
barn-door,  holding  the  dog,  and  fanning  his  flushed 
face  with  his  hat,  when  Tim,  who  had  been  left  to 
keep  watch  outside,  came  running  around  the  corner 
of  the  stable. 

"  They're  coming  !  "  he  cried. 

w  Who  are  coming !  "  Worth  asked,  starting  up, 
but  sitting  down  again  immediately,  determined  to 
appear  cool. 

"  I  don't  know  —  three  or  four  fellows  —  Chase  is 
one  !     They'll  be  here  in  a  minute." 

"  Let  'em  come  ! " 

And  Worth  kept  on  fanning  himself. 

"  Here  they  are  !  "  said  Tim,  hearing  the  rush  of 
feet. 

And  running  into  the  barn,  he  stood  behind  his 


132  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

big  brother  and  the  dog,  while  Chase,  red  with 
haste  and  rage,  came  around  the  corner,  followed 
by  John  Rich  and  Lem  Pavode. 

Worth  put  on  his  hat  and  clutched  Nero's  rope 
with  both  hands. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  our  cattle?"  said 
Chase. 

"  Taking  care  of  'em ;  waiting  for  their  owners  to 
come  and  get  'em,"  said  Worth. 

"You've  been  dogging  and  clubbing  'em,"  said 
Chase. 

"I've  been  driving  'em  up;  dog  helped,"  said 
Worth. 

n  What  were  you  driving  'em  up  for  ?  What 
business  have  you  with  our  cattle,  any  way  ?  " 

Chase  had  walked  up  to  the  barn ;  and,  as  he 
said  this,  he  stood  within  six  feet  of  Worth,  his  hat 
thrown  back  on  his  sweaty  forehead,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing, and  one  hand  grasping  the  pocket-rifle. 

Worth  assumed  an  air  of  insolent  indifference, 
and  answered,  — 

"  Your  cattle  had  broken  into  our  lot,  and  got  at 
our  haystack  ;  and  I  rather  think  it  was  my  business 
to  take  care  of  'em  !  " 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  drive  'em  back  into  our 
pasture?  " 


THE   POCKET-RIFLE   COMES   IN  PLAY.  133 

*  What  good  would  that  do  ?  They  would  break 
in  again  the  first  chance  they  had." 

"  That's  because  you've  such  shiftless  fences,"  said 
Chase.  "  They're  not  fit  to  keep  sheep  and  lambs 
from  jumping." 

"  We'll  take  care  of  our  own  fences,"  said  Worth. 
"  Take  care  of  your  horses  and  cattle ;  that's  all  I've 
got  to  say." 

"Don't  you  drive  any  of  'em  up  to  your  yard 
again,  and  don't  set  your  dog  on  'em,  Worth  Lank- 
ton,  if  you  know  what's  good  for  him  and  you  !  " 
said  Chase,  with  menacing  eyes  and  voice. 

M  I  shall  drive  'em  up,  and  set  my  dog  on  'em,  if 
they're  found  in  our  lot  again,"  replied  Worth.  M  It's 
time  to  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsense." 

"  You're  going  a  pretty  way  to  work  to  put  a  stop 
to  it !  "  Chase  retorted. 

"  Why  don't  you  do  something  yourself,  then  ?  " 

"Haven't  I  done  something?  Didn't  I  hamper 
Old  Whiteface  last  fall  ?  I've  done  everything  I 
could ;  but  your  tumble-down  fences  have  rotted 
out  so  during  the  winter,  that  if  a  calf  goes  to 
scratch  his  hide  against  a  rail,  down  rattles  a  whole 
length  or  two.  Mend  your  part  of  the  fences  ;  that 
is  the  only  way  to  stop  the  nonsense.  Lem,  let 
down  those  bars  !  " 


i34  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Worth  started  up. 

"  Lem  Pavode,  don't  you  touch  those  bars  !  " 

"  What's  that?  "  cried  Chase.  "  How  can  I  get 
my  cattle  out  unless  we  let  down  the  bars  ?  " 

"Easy  enough,"  said  Worth.  w  Take  'em  through 
the  gate." 

As  the  gate  opened  out  of  the  other  side  of  the 
yard,  into  the  long  private  way  that  led  past  the 
house,  and  over  the  bridge,  to  the  public  road, 
Chase  answered  this  proposition  with  a  jeering  laugh. 

"  Guess  you  can't  prevent  me  from  driving  'em 
back  the  way  they  came  !  "  he  said. 

"I  can  prevent  your  crossing  our  fields,  and  I 
will !  "  said  Worth. 

"Think  I'm  going  all  the  way  round  the  road 
with  'em?"  Chase  demanded. 

"  You  will  if  you  take  'em  away  at  all !  "  replied 
Worth ;  M  unless  you  can  manage  to  float  'em  up 
the  river,  or  carry  'em  through  the  air.  As  for 
crossing  our  land  with  'em,  that  you  can't  do  !  " 

"Where's  your  father?  "  Chase  asked. 

"  He  has  gone  away  and  left  me  in  charge  of 
things.     Oh,  I'm  master  here,  Chase  Atway  !  " 

And  Worth  stood  erect,  grim  and  defiant,  holding 
with  one  hand  the  rope,  which  fell  across  his  knees, 
and  patting  Nero's  neck  with  the  other. 


THE   POCKET-RIFLE   COMES   IN   PLAY.  135 

n  Chase  !  "  called  John  Kich,  "  this  steer's  hind 
legs  are  all  dripping  with  blood,  where  that  dog  has 
bitten  him ! " 

Chase  went  and  looked  at  the  steer's  legs.  He 
was  almost  beside  himself  at  the  sight. 

"Worth  Lankton  !  "  he  said,  M  if  ever  your  half- 
starved,  dirty-looking,  mean  boy's  whelp  touches 
one  of  our  creatures  again,  he  dies !  I  give  you 
fair  warning." 

"  Kill  him,  and  you'll  have  him  to  pay  for !  "  said 
the  dog's  owner. 

"  That  won't  take  much.  I  don't  know  who  else 
would  have  such  a  homely,  slab-sided,  miserable, 
mongrel  pup  as  that !  But  he  goes  very  well  with 
your  broken  fences  and  sagging  gates ;  and  a  jury 
might  give  you  three  cents  damages,  if  you  sued  me 
for  killing  him." 

No  boy  likes  to  have  his  dog  ridiculed.  Worth 
was  exasperated.  "Say  much,"  he  cried,  "and  I'll 
let  him  come  at  you!" 

"  Let  him  come,"  replied  Chase,  "  if  you  want  to 
see  him  get  a  bullet  between  the  eyes.  Lem,  let 
down  those  bars  !  " 

Worth  made  a  dozen  quick  steps  to  the  bars, 
taking  Nero  with  him.  Lem,  who  was  about  to 
obev  his  friend,  drew  himself  aside. 


136  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Til  take  'em  down  myself,   then,"  said  Chase, 

*  and  let  who  dares  hinder  me ! " 

w  See  here,  Chase  !"  said  John  Rich.  "  I  wouldn't ! 
Take  the  cattle  home  around  by  the  road ;  Lem  and 
I  will  help  you." 

Chase's  friends,  being  less  angry,  were  more  cau- 
tious and  far  more  reasonable  than  he.  Lem  joined 
with  John  in  urging  him  not  to  insist  on  what  they 
believed  Worth  had  a  right  to  forbid,  and  at  last  he 
yielded  to  their  persuasions. 

The  sagging  gate  was  lifted,  and  swung  around 
in  the  curved  furrow  it  had  cut  for  its  outer  leg  in 
the  dark  soil,  and  the  cattle  were  driven  through. 

"  Shut  the  gate  after  you ! "  cried  Worth,  from 
the  bars  where  he  stood  guard  with  Nero. 

w  Shut  your  own  gate  ! "  returned  Chase  ;  "  and 
straighten  it  up  on  its  rotten  hinges,  if  you  expect 
me  ever  to  open  it  again  !  " 

He  was  walking  off  with  John  and  Lem,  driving 
the  cattle  towards  the  bridge,  when  something  shot 
by  him,  with  a  growl  and  a  rush  of  swift  feet.  It 
was  Nero. 

Worth  had  slipped  the  rope  from  his  neck,  think- 
ing, as  he  afterwards  declared,  that  the  cattle  were 
safe  out  of  his  way.  But  to  the  boys  driving  the 
herd  it  looked  very  much  as  if  the  dog  was  launched 


THE    POCKET-RIFLE    COMES   IN   PLAY.  137 

in  answer  to  Chase  Atway's  last  taunt.  Be  that  aa 
it  might,  the  brute  thought  only  of  renewing  the 
bloody  game  in  the  midst  of  which  he  had  been 
interrupted. 

In  a  moment  he  had  fixed  his  jaws  in  the  hind 
leg  of  Mr.  Atway's  kindest  old  cow,  just  above  the 
gambrel-joint — the  favorite  hold  of  a  certain  ignoble 
class  of  dogs  that  lack  courage  for  an  attack  in  front. 

The  cow  bellowed,  and  tried  in  vain  to  shake  him 
off.     John  Rich  ran  up. 

"  Keep  back  !  "  Chase  shouted,  levelling  his  rifle. 
" I'll  fix  him  !  " 

"  Don't  shoot !  don't  shoot  I "  yelled  Worth,  rush- 
ing from  the  yard. 

But  too  late. 

Worth  hardly  heard  the  light  crack  of  the  rifle  as 
he  ran ;  but  he  saw  the  puff  of  smoke,  and  thought 
at  first  it  was  a  blank  shot,  meant  to  frighten  rather 
than  hurt. 

Nero  still  clung  to  the  cow ;  for  a  moment  only, 
however ;  then,  losing  his  hold,  he  whirled  about 
two  or  three  times,  with  his  head  at  his  side,  uttering 
a  whining  yelp. 

"  There's  your  dog ;  now  take  care  of  him !  "  cried 
Chase,  slipping  another  shell  into  the  little  breech- 
loader. 


[38  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Instead  of  flying  at  the  herd  again,  Nero  went 
whimpering  and  cringing  to  his  young  master's  feet. 

"You've  done  for  him !  "  said  Lem  Pavode,  verv 
pale. 

"I  guess  not,"  said  John  Rich.  w  But  he's  hurt  a 
little  ;  and  good  enough  for  him  !  " 

"  I  grave  fair  warning  !  "  exclaimed  Chase.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  have  our  cattle  torn  to  pieces  by  any- 
body's whelp." 

Worth,  meanwhile,  examining  the  dog,  found  a 
small  red  trickling  stream  making  its  way  down  his 
gaunt  and  tawny  side. 

He  rose  up  from  his  stooping  posture,  and  shook 
his  clenched  hand  at  Chase. 

M  This  is  the  sorriest  day's  work  you  ever  did  !  " 
said  he.  "  Coming  here,  on  our  land,  to  shoot  my 
dog  with  my  own  pocket-rifle  !  " 

"  Your  pocket-rifle  !  "  sneered  Chase. 

"  Mine  by  right.  But  whether  yours  or  mine,  you 
won't  have  it  long,  I  can  tell  you  that !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  won't,  eh?  Maybe  you'd  like  to  take  it 
away  from  me  now.     You're  welcome  to  try." 

And  Chase,  having  started  on  after  the  cattle, 
turned  and  faced  Worth,  with  scornful  defiance. 

w  It's  brave  in  you  to  stand  there  with  a  loaded 
weapon,  and  two  boys  to  back  you  ! "  said  Worth. 


THE   POCKET-RIFLE   COMES   IN   PLAY.  139 

My  time  hasn't  come  yet ;  but  it  will  come.  I  can 
wait.     You've  killed  my  dog,  Chase  Atway  ! " 

Chase  was  troubled  to  see  the  poor  brute  stretched 
out  there,  bleeding,  on  the  ground.  It  was  not  a 
lovely  deed  he  had  done,  and  he  knew  it.  But  he 
answered  stoutly,  — 

w  It's  all  your  own  fault,  Worth  Lankton.  You 
might  have  kept  him  back.  Now  you  may  sue  ;  you 
may  threaten  to  get  my  pocket-rifle  ;  I've  done  just 
what  I  should  do  over  again,  and  I'm  not  to  be 
frightened !  " 

He  walked  on  a  little  way  further,  then  turned 
again,  feeling  impelled  to  say  a  last  word  in  self- 
defence. 

"If  your  dog  gets  well,  or  if  ever  you  have  an- 
other, my  advice  to  you  is,  not  to  set  him  on  to  our 
cattle  twice  the  same  day,  when  I  am  around." 

"My  time  will  come;  and  that  before  long!" 
was  all  the  answer  Worth  made,  as  he  bent  down 
once  more  over  Nero. 


140  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


COULDN'T  help  it,  could  I?"  said  Chase  to  his 

companions,  as  they  followed  the  cattle  over  the 
bridge. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could ;  and  I'd  have  shot 
him  if  I'd  been  in  your  place,"  said  John  Rich. 

M  Anybody  would,"  said  Lem.  w  His  father  won't 
sue  you,  and  I  don't  see  how  Worth  can  get  your 
rifle." 

"You  heard  him  threaten  to,  didn't  you?  Now 
we'll  see  what  his  threats  amount  to  ! "  said  Chase. 

He  was,  nevertheless,  greatly  disturbed  in  his 
mind  by  what  had  happened.  He  kept  constantly 
appealing  to  his  comrades  for  approval  of  his  con- 
duct, and  pointing  at  the  cattle's  bloody  legs. 

The  hardest  thing  for  him  now  was  to  tell  his 
father  what  he  had  done.  Having  driven  the  cattle 
home,  around  by  the  road,  and  got  them  into  their 
own  yard,  he  wanted  the  boys  to  go  with  him  up 
into  the  woods,  and  bear  witness  in  his  favor. 


worth's  revenge.  141 

But  John  Rich  said,  "I  guess  I  must  go  home 
now  ;  it's  getting  late." 

"  So  must  I,"  said  Lem  ;  "  I've  got  the  chores  to 
do." 

And  in  spite  of  Chase's  entreaties,  they  presently 
went  off  together. 

"  I'm  glad  /  didn't  shoot  that  dog  !  ain't  you?  '' 
said  John  Rich ;  "  though  nobody  can  blame  Chase." 

"  That's  so  ! "  said  Lem.  "  He  gave  fair  warning. 
It's  an  awful  bad  job,  though  ;  and  father '11  be  sorry, 
I  guess,  he  ever  offered  such  a  prize  to  the  school." 

Worth  stayed  by  the  dog,  and  watched  his  suffer- 
ings, until  an  overpowering  desire  for  vengeance 
took  possession  of  him. 

He  walked  on  past  the  orchard,  and  looking  over 
towards  Mr.  Atway's  house,  saw  somebody  going 
down  the  lane.  It  was  Chase  on  his  way  to  the 
sugar-bush,  to  convey  the  unpleasant  tidings  to  his 
father. 

Worth  drew  back  out  of  sight,  and  ran  past  the 
barn.  When  finally  discovered  by  Chase,  he  was 
walking  fast  across  the  fields  towards  the  haystack 
^hich  the  cattle  had  attacked. 

He  pretended  to  be  putting  up  the  rails  there, 
when  Chase  went  by,  about  thirty  rods  off,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  boundary  fence. 


142  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Chase  carried  his  pocket-rifle  ;  and  that  was  what 
Worth  was  really  there  to  see.  They  did  not  appear 
to  take  any  notice  of  each  other :  Worth  seemed 
busy  repairing  the  broken  enclosure ;  and  Chase 
passed  on  in  silence,  although  strongly  inclined  to 
stop  and  ask  after  the  wounded  dog. 

Having  put  up  the  fence  in  a  fashion,  Worth  sat 
on  it,  brooding  over  his  wrongs,  and  meditating  re- 
venge ;  until,  moved  by  a  desperate  impulse,  he 
jumped  down  and  followed  Chase  towards  the 
woods.  The  night  was  settling  down  prematurely, 
with  darkening  clouds;  but  the  angry  boy  cared 
little  for  that. 

In  the  meantime,  Chase  had  found  his  father  at 
the  sugar-camp,  and  told  him  truthfully  all  that  had 
happened. 

"Boy!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Atway,  with  as  black  a 
scowl  as  was  ever  seen  on  his  face;  "now  you've 
got  us  into  a  tine  scrape  !  " 
.  "  I'm  sorry  !     But,  pa,  if  you  knew  just  how  it 
was  *  —  stammered  Chase. 

"  I  know  near  enough.  No  doubt  it  was  a  great 
provocation.  And  I  was  afraid  on't,"  said  his  father. 
"  Lathbrook  told  me  about  the  Lankton  boy's  dog- 
ging our  cattle  and  driving  'em  home,  and  your 
starting  after  them  with  your    pesky  pocket-rifle. 


WORTH'S    REVENGE.  143 

1  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  a  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

"  Neither  would  I,"  said  Chase.  "  But  would  you 
have  had  me  —  " 

"  Stand  by  and  see  the  cur  tear  our  cattle  ?  "  cried 
his  father.  M  No ;  but  you  could  have  kicked  and 
beaten  him  off;  no  need  to  have  shot  him.  So 
much  for  carrying  deadly  weapons  !  " 

Chase  looked  ruefully  at  the  prize  he  was  lately  so 
proud  of,  but  which  he  now  almost  wished  he  had 
never  seen. 

"  Is  it  loaded?"  Mr.  Atway  inquired. 

For  answer,  Chase  pressed  the  spring,  threw  up 
the  breech,  and  withdrew  the  unexploded  shell. 

"There  !  "  said  his  father ;  "put  it  away  now,  and 
don't  you  load  it  again  till  I  give  you  permission." 

Chase  went  obediently  and  hung  up  the  dangerous 
plaything  in  the  hut. 

"Stay  and  help  Tomkins  finish  up  here,"  said 
Mr.  Atway.  "  I'll  go  down  and  look  after  the  cat- 
tle, and  do  the  chores,  and  see  Lankton,  if  I  can, 
about  the  dog:." 

He  set  off  at  a  quick  pace,  but  stopped  when  he 
had  gone  a  little  way  in  the  dusky  woods,  and 
loofred  back  at  Chase,  punching  the  fire. 

"  There's  a  storm  brewing,"  said  he.    "  I  shouldn't 


144  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

wonder  if  we  got  snow  before  morning ;  feels  likft 
it.  Perhaps  you'd  better  turn  over  the  sap-buckets. 
Tell  Tomkins." 

"  All  right,"  said  Chase,  standing  in  the  glow  of 
the  fire,  by  the  boiling  kettles. 

He  was  glad  of  something  to  do ;  and,  taking  a 
couple  of  pails  to  gather  up  the  last  drippings  of  the 
sap,  he  set  out  to  turn  over  the  buckets  while  he 
could  yet  see  to  work  in  the  fast  darkening  woods. 

Tomkins  carried  the  sap  to  the  camp ;  and  after 
making  two  or  three  trips,  came  back  to  Chase  with 
a  startling  question. 

"  Who  is  that  feller  prowlin'  about  the  woods 
down  there  ?  " 

w  Where  ?    What  fellow  ?  "  said  Chase. 

"  I've  seen  him  twice,"  replied  Tomkins.  "  Fust 
time,  he  seemed  to  be  comin'  up  towards  the  kittle 
from  below ;  he  wasn't  fur  from  the  log  where  you 
fired  at  the  mark." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  Chase  asked,  in  some 
alarm. 

M  I  didn't  know  but  what  it  was  one  of  the  Doys 
that  was  with  you  this  afternoon,"  said  Tomkins ; 
"though  I  thought  he  was  ruther  skulkin'  in  his 
movements.  But  jest  now  I  see  him  nearer  to.  He 
slunk  away  from  the  camp  jest  as  I  was  a-comin'  up." 


worth's  revenge.  145 

"  Did  you  speak  to  him  ?  " 

*  Yes  ;  I  says,  ?  Good-evenin\  Did  ye  want  any- 
thing?' But  he  jest  hurried  away,  and  got  out  of 
sight  as  quick  as  he  could." 

"  Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  nigh  enough  ;  it  was  too  dark  to  make 
out  his  face,"  said  Tomkins.  *  But  his  hat,  his  gait, 
all  his  movements,  even  to  the  stoop  in  his  shoulders, 
was  for  all  the  world  like  that  oldest  Lankton  boy, 
Worth." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  cried  Chase. 

w  Wal,  I'm  sure  enough ;  though,  as  I  said,  I 
couldn't  swear  to  the  featur's.  More  I  think  on't," 
added  Tomkins,  "better  satisfied  I  am  'twas  him, 
and  no  mistake." 

Chase  dropped  everything,  and  hurried  to  the 
camp. 

He  ran  to  the  hut  and  felt  for  the  nail  on  which 
he  had  hung  the  pccket-rifle.  The  nail  was  there, 
but  the  pocket-rifle  was  gone. 


1 46  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

PEACE   OR  WAR? 

MR.  ATWAY  sat  milking  the  cow  by  the  last 
glimmer  of  the  early  and  brief  March  twilight, 
when  he  heard  footsteps  hurrying  up  the  lane,  and 
saw  a  dark  figure  pass  quickly  through  the  yard. 

"Is  that  you,  Chase?  "  he  called.  And  all  out  of 
breath  with  running  and  excitement,  the  boy  turned 
back. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  his  father. 

In  a  dozen  broken  words,  or  rather  gasps,  Chase 
told  him,  standing  there  by  his  father's  side  in  the 
deep  dusk. 

"  'Tain't  possible  Worth  Lankton  would  do  such  a 
thing  as  that !  "  exclaimed  the  farmer.  "  The  rifle 
must  be  there  in  the  hut." 

"No,  I'm  sure  it  is  not !  "  said  Chase.  "When  I 
found  it  was  gone,  I  started  to  follow  him.  But  I 
thought  there  might  be  some  mistake ;  so  I  went 
back  and  lit  the  lantern,  and  had  a  thorough  search. 
It  was  gone,  and  Tomkins  is  sure  the  fellow  he  saw 
prowling  around  there  was  Worth  Lankton." 


PEACE    OR   WAR.  147 

w  I  am  afraid  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Atway.  w  For,  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  saw  him  myself  when  I  was  coming 
out  of  the  sugar-bush.  He  was  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  he  stepped  behind  a  tree,  as  if  to  wait 
for  me  to  pass.  I  had  no  idea  he  would  do  so  des- 
perate a  thing,  or  I  would  have  gone  back." 

"What  can  we  do  about  it?"  Chase  anxiously 
inquired. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  farmer ;  and  Chase  could 
almost  see  the  troubled  frown  on  his  face  in  the 
darkness.  w  A  pretty  snarl  we  are  getting  into  with 
our  neighbors,  thanks  to  your  pocket-rifle  !  I'll  go 
over  to  Lankton's  after  supper,  and  see  if  I  can 
straighten  out  things  a  little." 

The  matter  was  talked  over  seriously  at  the  sup- 
per-table ;  then  Mr.  Atway,  taking  out  of  the  cellar- 
way  an  old  tin  lantern,  full  of  holes  (the  other  lantern 
was  in  the  woods),  lighted  a  bit  of  candle  to  put  into 
it,  and  set  off  on  his  uncomfortable  errand. 

Chase  wanted  to  go  with  him,  but  his  father 
said, — 

"  You  boys  have  managed  this  business  about  long 
enough ;  now,  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  it  the 
belter." 

So  all  that  was  left  for  Chase  to  do,  was  to  watch 
the  little  moving  sphere  of  sprinkled  rays  as  it  accom- 


148  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

panied  his  father  down  the  dark  lane,  across  the 
bridge,  and  along  the  silent  and  dark  river  bank, 
until  it  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Lank- 
ton's  house. 

Mr.  Atway  went  to  this  interview  fully  determined 
to  be  perfectly  calm  and  kind.  But  his  heart  beat 
fast  when  he  reached  the  door,  and  held  the  lantern 
before  him  to  find  the  steps. 

The  streaming  rays  fell  upon  a  tawny  shape  out- 
stretched at  his  very  feet.  It  was  Nero.  He  did 
not  lie  like  a  dog  asleep.  Mr.  Atway  remarked  a 
certain  stiffness  about  the  neck  and  limbs.  He  put 
down  his  hand  to  touch  him,  but  drew  it  back  with  a 
start  and  heavy  sigh.  The  dog  would  never  trouble 
anybody's  cattle  any  more.     He  was  stone-dead. 

For  a  moment,  Mr.  Atway  was  sorry  he  had 
come.  He  would  have  turned  about  and  gone  home 
if  he  had  not  thought  his  lantern  might  have  been 
seen  by  the  family.     So  he  knocked. 

Mrs.  Lankton  came  to  the  door,  looking  sadly 
disquieted  at  sight  of  the  neighbor. 

"  I  came  to  see  about  your  dog,"  he  began,  in  a 
voice  full  of  pain  and  compassion,  "and  I  am  sorry 
—  sorry  —  to  find  he  is  dead." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lankton,  coldly;  "your  boy 
shot  him." 


PEACE    OR   WAR.  149 

*  I  regret  it,  I  regret  it  more  than  if  it  had  been 
the  best  cow  on  my  place ! "  said  Mr.  Atway,  set- 
ting down  his  lantern  on  the  step,  and  entering  in 
compliance  with  a  feeble  motion  she  made ;  M  and 
I  have  come  to  see  your  folks  about  it.  Lankton, 
good  evening." 

Mr.  Lankton  was  sitting  in  a  far  corner  by  the 
stove,  in  the  dimly  lighted  kitchen.  He  did  not 
rise,  indeed  he  hardly  looked  up  at  their  visitor,  but 
answered  gloomily,  w  Good  evening,  Mr.  Atway." 

The  Mister  was  noticeable  —  that  form  of  address 
being  seldom  used  by  these  near  neighbors  when 
they  met  on  terms  of  familiarity  and  good-will. 

Mrs.  Lankton  placed  a  chair,  and  the  visitor  sat 
down. 

"  I  have  been  greatly  distressed  by  what  happened 
to-day,"  said  he ;  "and  I  don't  want  you  to  think 
for  a  moment  that  I  approve  of  my  boy's  shooting 
your  dog." 

No  reply  from  the  gloomy  man  in  the  corner. 

M  It  was  done  in  a  passion,  and  he  is  sorry  enough 
for  it  himself.  I  trust,"  Mr.  Atway  went  on,  in  the 
most  conciliatory  tones,  "that  you  will  consider  all 
the  circumstances,  —  that  he  is  a  mere  boy,  and 
that  he  really  had  some  provocation,  —  and  over- 
look it." 


150  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  I  don't  see  the  provocation,"  muttered  the  man 
in  the  corner. 

"I  don't  mean  that  there  was  any  sufficient  prov- 
ocation," Mr.  Atway  explained.  "  But  you  know, 
the  dog  had  already  been  at  our  cattle." 

M  Of  course,"  spoke  up  the  man  of  gloom, 
promptly  and  harshly.  "  Your  cattle  were  in  our 
field,  and  at  our  stack.  You  should  keep  your 
cattle  at  home." 

Mr.  Atway  controlled  an  impulse  to  make  as  sharp 
a  retort,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  answered 
with  exemplary  mildness, — 

M  We  try  to  keep  our  stock  on  our  side  of  the 
line  ;  but  that  is  not  always  possible  in  the  present 
condition  of  the  fences.  I  am  more  sorry  than  you 
can  be  that  the  cows  got  over  to-day ;  but  I  didn't 
suppose  you  would  approve  of  your  boys'  dogging 
them,  and  driving  them  into  your  yard." 

w  I  think  my  boys  did  right,"  came  sternly  from 
the  dark  figure  in  the  corner. 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  "I  don't  see  that 
there  is  much  use  in  our  talking  the  matter  over. 
There's  been  wrong  on  both  sides ;  and  I'd  not  the 
least  idea  of  your  upholding  your  boys  in  the  cruelty 
they  were  guilty  of,  let  alone  the  trouble  they  put  us 
to,  of  driving  our  cattle  home  around  by  the  road." 


PEACE    OR   WAR.  151 

"  Cruelty !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Lankton,  in  a  violent 
and  bitter  tone.  "  Who  talks  of  cruelty  ?  Who  shot 
our  dog  ?  " 

"  My  boy  shot  him,  I  frankly  admit." 

"  Very  well.  That's  the  only  thing  I  care  to  talk 
about.  Your  boy  shot  him,  and  you  will  have  him 
to  pay  for." 

"  I  expect  to  do  that  —  any  reasonable  price,"  said 
Mr.  Atway,  beginning  to  lose  patience,  but  still 
controlling  himself ;  "  provided  your  boy  will  at  the 
same  time  give  up  the  pocket-rifle." 

"  Give  up  the  pocket-rifle  ?  " 

The  man  in  the  corner  was  evidently  astonished. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  firmly,  "the  cause  of  all 
this  trouble  —  the  pocket-rifle  which  Worth  found 
and  carried  away  from  our  sugar-camp  this  evening." 

Mr.  Lankton  started  to  his  feet. 

"  You  mean  to  say  —  " 

He  was  too  angry  to  go  on ;  and  Mr.  Atway  put 
the  rude  fact  in  as  gentle  phrase  as  he  could. 

"You  mean  to  say  he  stole  it?"  Mr.  Lankton 
broke  out,  in  a  fury. 

M  I  didn't  say  that." 

It  was  now  time  for  the  visitor  to  rise  to  his  feet 
and  stand  on  the  defensive. 

"  But  you  mean  that,  and  you  might  as  well  say  it." 


152  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

And  the  father  of  Worth  denounced  the  charge  as 
a  malignant  falsehood. 

"You  won't  listen  to  the  evidence,"  said  Mr.  At- 
way.     "Call  in  Worth  himself;  he  won't  deny  it." 

"  I  don't  care  for  your  evidence  ;  and  I  won't  in- 
sult my  son  by  asking  him  to  deny  such  a  slander  as 
that,"  stormed  the  father. 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  of  more  words,"  said  Mr. 
Atway,  out  of  all  patience,  retreating  to  the  door. 

"  No  use  at  all,  when  you  talk  that  way,"  Mr. 
Lankton  roared  after  him.  "  Only  remember  there's 
a  dog  to  pay  for." 

" How  much  is  the  dog  worth?  "  said  Mr.  Atway, 
contemptuously. 

"  Twenty-five  dollars  will  settle  the  hash ;  not  a 
cent  less." 

"  Twenty  —  iive — dollars  — for  a  worthless  whelp 
like  that !  "  said  the  amazed  visitor.  "  Twenty-five 
gimcracks  ! " 

"  You  will  pay  it ! "  said  Lankton,  following  him 
to  the  door. 

"  I  never  will  pay  it  in  the  world,"  said  Atway, 
taking  up  his  lantern ;  "  not  if  it  costs  me  my  farm 
in  lawsuits  ! " 

"  I  shall  certainly  sue  you,  then  !  "  cried  Lankton, 
in  the  doorway. 


PEACE    OR   WAR. 


153 


"Look  here,  neighbor !  "  Atway  answered,  stand- 
ing, lantern  in  hand,  a  few  paces  out  in  the  dark- 
ness, which  its  shimmering  light  faintly  illumined. 
"  There  are  two  edges  to  that  tool,  and  you'd  better 
be  careful  you  don't  get  cut  by  it." 

He  partly  turned  away,  as  if  about  to  go,  but 
stopped  to  add,  — 

"  Sue  for  my  boy's  killing  the  dog,  and  I'll  have 
your  boy  up  for  stealing  the  pocket-rifle,  sure  as  we 
two  are  talking  here.  Now  we  understand  each 
other." 

And  having  sent  back  this  menace,  in  a  meas- 
ured, level  tone  of  voice,  straight  as  a  sword-thrust, 
he  walked  away,  in  his  little  moving  shower  of 
aazy  lantern-beams,  into  the  dismal  night. 


154  THE  FOCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 
war! 

MR.  ATWAY  was  right  in  prophesying  a  storm. 
A  cold  north-easter  set  in  before  morning,  and 
at  daylight  the  ground  was  covered  and  the  wild  air 
filled  with  snow. 

"  Lucky  we  turned  the  sap-buckets  over,"  said 
Chase,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Tomkins,  who  had  remained  in  the  sugar-bush  all 
night,  came  in,  bringing  pails  of  black  syrup,  to  be 
converted  into  sugar  in  Mrs.  Atway's  kitchen.  He 
had  let  the  fire  go  out  and  put  the  kettles  under 
cover.  Work  in  the  woods  was  over,  for  that  day  at 
least ;  for  two  days,  as  it  turned  out ;  the  snow-storm 
proving  the  heaviest  of  the  season,  although  it  came 
in  March.  It  takes  frosty  nights  and  sunny  days  to 
bring  a  run  of  sap. 

But  though  the  storm  interfered  with  the  sugar- 
making,  it  did  not  smother  the  wrath  of  man. 

Mr.  Atway  had  just  shoved  his  chair  back  from 
the  dinner-table,  on  the  second  day,  when  an  ac- 


WAR. 


155 


quaintance  from  the  village  came  in,  stamping  off  the 
snow  in  the  entry,  and  dropping  his  gloves  into  his 
hat. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  cheerily,  "  what's 
the  news  with  you,  Mr.  Coffin?" 


w  Something  I'm  afraid  you  won't  find  very 
pleasant,"  replied  the  visitor,  unbuttoning  his  double- 
breasted  overcoat,  and  taking  out  a  formidable- 
looking  envelope  which  he  had  carried  safe  in  a  dry 
pocket. 

The  farmer  turned  slightly  pale  as  he  received  it, 
remembering  that  Mr.  Coffin  was  a  constable. 
Chase,  who  had  risen  to  place  a  chair  and  take  the 


156  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

visitor's  hat,  watched  his  father  anxiously  as  he  broke 
the  wrapper.  With  a  scowl  of  astonishment  and 
dismay,  Mr.  Atway  unfolded  and  glanced  his  eye 
over  an  official-looking  document. 

"  We  command  you  to  appear  before  our  Justices 
of  the  District  Court  —  in  answer  to  —  Luke  Lank- 
ton!"  he  exclaimed,  reading  at  random,  and  glanc- 
ing his  eye  down  the  page  —  a  printed  form  filled 
in  with  a  pen.  "  Your  goods  or  estate  are  attached 
—  Fail  not  at  your  peril!  " 

He  held  the  document  in  his  hand,  looking  over 
it  with  speechless  indignation  at  the  constable. 

"Pa,  has  he  sued  you ? "  said  Chase. 

M  It's  the  grossest  outrage  that  ever  was  commit- 
ted !  "  exclaimed  the  farmer.  "  I'll  fight  him  !  Ill 
fight  him  to  the  end  of  the  law,  if  it  takes  every 
cent  I'm  worth  !  " 

w  Of  course,  you  understand  "  —  said  the  consta- 
ble, apologetically. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Coffin,  I  understand  that  you  have 
nothing  to  do  with  writs  but  to  serve  them.  I  don't 
blame  you.  But  I  must  express  my  contempt. 
Sued  for  the  killing  of  a  dog  that  wasn't  worth  his 
breakfast,  and  didn't  look  as  if  he  ever  had  one  !  " 

M  What  can  you  do  ?  "  Chase  inquired,  full  of  con- 
cern at  this  wretched  result  of  his  conduct. 


WAR.  157 

Mr.  Atway  waited  until  the  officer  was  out  of  the 
house,  then  exclaimed, — 

"  Do  ?  The  first  thing  I  do  will  be  to  cany  out  my 
threat  to  Lankton ;  I'll  have  his  boy  up  for  stealing, 
sure  as  fate  ! " 

Chase  feebly  remonstrated. 

w  I  will !  I'll  let  Lankton  know  he  has  got  a  man 
to  deal  with !     Bring  my  boots  !  " 

ff  Not  now ! "  said  Chase,  frightened  at  the  ex- 
tremes to  which  he  saw  the  feud  suddenly  rushing. 

K  This  minute  !  "  said  his  father.  "  It's  a  clear 
case.  You  and  the  Eich  boy  and  Lem  Pavode  can 
swear  that  Worth  threatened  to  take  the  rifle  ;  and 
it  was  taken  that  very  night.  Nobody  else  was 
about  the  sugar-bush ;  I  met  him  going  into  it,  and 
Tomkins  is  sure  it  was  Worth  he  saw  prowling 
around   the   camp." 

w  Of  course  he  took  it,"  said  Chase ;  w  but  it  was 
in  a  fit  of  anger." 

K  So  was  his  father  in  a  fit  of  anger  when  he  sued 
me.  But  I'll  let  'em  know  somebody  else  can  be  in 
a  fit  of  anger  too ;  they've  no  monopoly  of  that ! 
Tell  Tomkins  to  harness  Whiteface  to  the  cutter." 

Mr.  Atway  was  not  a  man  to  make  idle  threats. 
The  cutter  was  brought  to  the  door ;  and,  taking 
Chase  with  him,  he  rode  to  the  village  that  after* 


158  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

noon,  through  the  deep,  half-trodden  snow;  con- 
sulted a  lawyer,  whom  he  engaged  to  defend  the 
w  dead-dog  lawsuit,"  as  he  called  it,  and  then  sent 
Chase  to  hunt  up  Squire  Holgate. 

Squire  Holgate  was  a  justice  of  the  peace.  Chase 
found  him  talking  politics  at  the  post-office,  and 
with  some  difficulty  got  him  to  go  over  to  his  own 
private  office.  He  was  an  old  man,  who  had  failed 
as  a  lawyer  in  consequence  of  his  procrastinating 
habits  and  his  easy  good-nature,  but  who  made  a 
tolerably  good  notary  and  village  magistrate. 

Entering  his  office  with  Mr.  Atway,  and  inviting 
him  to  sit  down,  he  told  a  good  story  or  two,  and 
would  have  kept  on  talking  the  rest  of  the  day  on 
any  pleasant  topic  aside  from  business ;  but  Mr. 
Atway  was  nervous  and  impatient. 

"Excuse  me,  squire," he  said,  interrupting  one  of 
his  humorous  anecdotes ;  "  I  have  a  matter  of  some 
importance  — " 

"Oh,  certainly!"  said  the  squire.  "In  a  mo- 
ment." 

And  having  finished  his  story,  he  took  off  his 
hat,  put  on  a  grave  official  countenance  and  a  pair 
of  spectacles,  and  prepared  to  write. 

"  This  is  a  serious  matter  !  "  he  said,  having  heard 
the  complaint  against  Worth.      "  I  know  Lankton 


WAR.  159 

very  well ;  he's  odd,  but  a  well-meaning  man  at  bot- 
tom. I  shall  hate  to  issue  a  writ  for  his  boy.  Can't 
the  thing  be  settled?" 

ff  I  don't  see  how  it  can,"  Mr.  Atway  answered, 
firmly. 

"  Go  and  talk  it  over  with  him  ;  he'll  hear  to  rea- 
son, and  bring  the  boy  to  terms." 

"  No,  he  won't ;  I've  tried  it.  He  insulted  and 
abused  me.  He  wouldn't  even  call  Worth  in,  and 
ask  hhr  if  he  took  the  rifle." 

"  Let  me  send  for  him  ;  I  think  the  matter  can  be 
arranged,"  the  good-natured  magistrate  insisted. 

Chase,  who  stood  by,  anxiously  listening,  hoped 
his  father  would  take  this  good  advice.  It  was  cer- 
tainly disinterested,  for  Squire  Holgate  would  have 
his  fee  from  the  court  if  he  issued  the  warrant,  and 
none  if  he  did  not. 

But  Mr.  Atway  was  roused  and  obstinate. 

"You  don't  know  Lankton,"  he  said.  "  It  would 
be  just  like  him,  even  if  he  knew  his  boy  had  taken 
the  rifle,  to  uphold  him  in  it.  They're  a  bad  lot !  " 
And  he  insisted  upon  the  magistrate's  doing  his 
duty. 

"Well,  if  you  say  so,  there's  nothing  else  to  be 
done.  But  this  is  a  bad  state  of  things  between 
neighbors.     And  it's  pretty  rough  business  to  haul 


160  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

up  a  respectable  boy  for  the  larceny  of  something 
he  has  laid  his  hands  on  in  a  moment  of  passion." 

"But  it's  no  less  larceny  on  that  account,  is  it? 
so  I've  been  told,"  put  in  the  farmer. 

"  You  have  been  tcld  correctly.  Larceny  is  lar- 
ceny, whether  the  motive  be  avarice  or  malice,  or 
both.  You  are  ready  to  take  oath  to  this  com- 
plaint," said  the  justice. 

"I  am,"  said  the  farmer. 

The  complaint  was  signed  and  the  oath  adminis- 
tered, Chase  looking  on  with  strangely  mingled 
feelings,  —  resentment,  regret,  and  apprehension  of 
troubles  yet  to  come. 


ANOTHER   RACE.  161 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

ANOTHER   RACE. 

HAVING  cleared  his  conscience  by  offering  sound 
advice  as  a  peacemaker,  and  perfected  the  pa- 
per as  a  magistrate,  Squire  Holgate  shoved  back  his 
chair  with,  "This  case  reminds  me"  —  and  began 
another  of  his  pleasant  stories.  But  Mr.  Atway 
once  more  interrupted  him. 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  must  be  getting  along  back. 
There  will  be  no  delay  in  issuing  the  warrant  ?  " 

"No  delay  at  all,"  replied  the  squire,  fumbling 
among  his  papers  for  another  blank  form.  "  It  will 
be  in  the  hands  of  an  officer  within  an  hour,  and  be 
served,  probably,  this  very  afternoon.  If  you  will 
take  the  trouble  to  find  Mr.  Coffin  as  you  go  out,  and 
send  him  to  me,  that  will  expedite  matters." 

"  I'll  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  promptly.  "  Come, 
boy  ! " 

"  Foolish  business  !  foolish  business  !  "  said  the 
justice,  after  they  were  gone,  as  he  sat  peering 
through  his  glasses  at  the  writ  he  had  made  out,  to 


162  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

see  that  it  was  all  in  due  form.    M  I  hope  Coffin  can't 
be  found." 

At  that  very  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Coffin 
walked  in. 

The  consequence  was,  that  Mr.  Atway  had  hardly 
reached  home  with  Chase,  when  the  constable,  fol- 
lowing them  down  the  road  in  a  cutter,  passed  their 
house  on  his  way  to  Mr.  Lankton's. 

Chase  did  not  see  him  go  by  without  a  feeling  of 
deep  concern. 

His  old  love  for  Worth  was  not  fully  dead.  On 
his  ride  home  from  the  magistrate's  he  had  thought 
of  their  long  intimacy,  and  of  many  good  and  noble 
traits  in  his  friend,  which  he  could  not  forget,  and  did 
not  wish  to  forget.  And  now  to  see  an  officer  on  his 
way  to  arrest  him  for  stealing  the  bauble  which  had 
caused  all  the  trouble  between  them,  was  not  so 
great  a  satisfaction  as  might  have  been  supposed. 

If  Mr.  Atway  felt  any  compunctions  of  the  sort, 
he  kept  them  to  himself,  observing  grimly,  as  he 
watched  the  officer  whipping  down  the  road,  — 

"  He'll  have  company  in  his  cutter  when  he  goes 
hack.  I  had  my  unpleasant  surprise  after  dinner; 
now  it's  Lankton's  turn." 

There  was  anxious  watching  for  the  return  of  the 
constable;  and  Chase  felt,  after  all,  a  gloomy  tri- 


ANOTHER   RACE.  163 

umph,  thinking  of  the  punishment  it  would  be  to  the 
proud  and  revengeful  Worth  to  ride  by,  a  prisoner, 
charged  with  such  a  crime. 

To  the  surprise  of  the  family,  yet  to  the  secret 
relief  of  Chase,  the  officer  returned  alone. 

In  the  pure,  transparent  dusk,  settling  down 
upon  the  snow-covered  earth,  under  a  clear  and 
rosy-belted  sky,  they  saw  him  riding  slowly  up  the 
road. 

"  Squire  Holgate  has  played  me  false  ! "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Atway,  wrathfully.  "  I  don't  believe  he  has 
issued  any  warrant.  What  a  man  he  is  for  a  mag- 
istrate !  "     And  he  went  out  to  waylay  the  officer. 

"  Where  is  your  prisoner?  "  he  demanded,  as  Mr. 
Coffin  reined  his  horse  into  the  deep  snow  by  the 
gate,  and  stopped. 

"  I  haven't  any  prisoner,"  replied  the  officer. 

"  Have  you  got  a  warrant  ? "  was  Mr.  Atway's 
next  rather  sharp  question. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  And  Coffin  smilingly  tapped  his 
breast-pocket.     "  But  the  bird  is  flown." 

"  Run  away  ?  "  ejaculated  the  farmer. 

"  Gone  a-visiting,  his  folks  say,"  explained  the 
constable  ;  "  to  see  his  aunt,  over  the  mountain.  I 
couldn't  follow  him  to-night.  Besides,  I  have  my 
doubts  about  his  being  there." 


164  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  the  farmer.  w  They've  sent  him 
out  of  the  way.  I  guess  now  the  squire  will  be 
satisfied  that  there  was  good  reason  for  sending  a 
warrant  after  him.  Did  you  tell  'em  what  you 
wanted  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Coffin;  "I  just  told  Lankton  that 
Judge  Holgate  wanted  to  see  him  and  Worth  about 
a  matter  you  had  brought  to  his  notice." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

Coffin  laughed. 

"Well,  he  didn't  speak  very  respectfully  of  you 
and  your  matter.  I  didn't  have  many  words  with 
him.  I  shall  watch  for  the  boy,  and  serve  the  writ 
the  first  chance  I  get." 

"  I  trust  you  will,"  said  the  farmer.  "  This  run- 
ning away  shows  plainly  enough  the  boy's  guilt." 

"I  think  Holgate  himself  will  be  satisfied,"  re- 
plied Coffin. 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  when  he  put  the  writ  into 
my  hands,  he  told  me  not  to  serve  it,  nor  to  say  any- 
thing about  it,  until  I  had  got  Lankton  and  his  boy 
up  there  to  talk  with  him.  He  thought,  after  all, 
the  thing  might  be  amicably  settled." 

"  Just  like  the  eld  squire  !  "  Mr.  At  way  exclaimed, 
in  huge  disgust.     "  Why  couldn't  he  take  my  word, 


ANOTHER   RACE.  165 

and  do  as  he  agreed  ?  He's  no  more  fit  for  a  magis- 
trate "  —  But  here  he  checked  himself. 

Mr.  Coffin  blandly  replied,  "  He  is,  perhaps,  too 
good-natured.  But  that,  you  must  allow,  is  a  rather 
rare  trait,  and  not  a  very  bad  trait,  either,  in  a  pub- 
lic officer.  I  take  pride  in  being  pretty  good-nat- 
ured myself." 

"Well,  you  are.  And  it  is  a  good  trait  in  you 
and  him,"  said  Mr.  Atway.  "He  really  meant  to 
make  peace,  and  I  forgive  him  for  doing  his  duty  in 
that  irregular  and  roundabout  way.  But  he'll  see 
now  that  I  was  right,  and  tell  you  to  clap  on  your 
warrant,  or  I  miss  my  guess.  The  scamp  will  be 
round  again  before  many  days." 

"  Probably."  And  the  officer  drove  away  in  the 
shining  March  twilight. 

When  he  reported  the  result  of  his  mission  to 
Squire  Holgate,  that  humane  and  cautious  function- 
ary shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  That's  bad  for  the  boy  !  He  should  have  stayed 
at  home  and  faced  the  music.  But  the  course  I 
advised  was  best,  after  all.  It's  just  as  well  that  you 
didn't  let  the  Lanktons  know  what  you  had  in  your 
pocket." 

ff  I  suppose  I  shall  make  the  arrest  now,  when  J 
can?" 


166  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  Certainly.  The  first  chance  you  get.  But  * 
wouldn't  go  to  any  great  trouble  or  expense  about  it." 

That  evening  John  Kich  came  over  to  consult 
Chase  about  a  sleigh-ride  which  had  been  already 
planned  when  the  last  thaw  came  and  swept  away 
the  winter's  snow. 

The  revival  of  sleighing  in  March  had  reminded 
the  young  folks  of  this  much-talked-of  pleasure,  — 
except,  perhaps,  Chase  and  Worth,  who  had  some- 
thing else  to  think  of  in  those  days. 

"They  are  all  ready  for  it,"  said  John.  "Only 
Worth ;  he  is  off  somewhere ;  and  we  don't  want 
him." 

"  I  wouldn't  go  if  he  did !  "  Chase  declared. 

"  But  you  will  as  it  is  ?  " 

w  Yes,  if  pa  will  let  me,  and  I  can  have  old  White- 
face." 

"He  will  let  you,  I  know.  Won't  you,  Mr. 
Atway?" 

John  appealed  to  the  farmer  himself,  who  just 
then  came  into  the  room. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  after  hearing 
the  proposal.  "If  there  comes  a  run  of  sap  to- 
morrow, we  shall  need  Chase  in  the  sugar-bush.  And 
Whiteface,  too  ;  we  can't  get  around  and  gather  the 
sap  without  him  and  the  bob-sled." 


ANOTHER   RACE.  167 

"But  we  don't  mean  to  start  till  just  at  night,': 
said  John,  speaking  for  Chase,  who  was  not  in  a 
mood  to  care  much  for  the  sleigh-ride,  any  way. 
"  We'll  order  an  oyster  supper  at  Bell's,  and  stop 
there  on  our  way  home." 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  care !  "  said  Mr.  Atway,  just 
as  the  boys  knew  he  would.  "Chase  can  have 
Whiteface.  I  believe  in  young  folks  enjoying  them- 
selves, once  in  a  while."  So  the  ride  was  agreed 
upon ;  and  Chase  went  off  with  John  to  talk  it  over 
with  the  girls  who  were  to  be  invited. 

Chase  engaged  Susan  Webb  for  his  companion, 
and,  on  the  next  afternoon,  drove  up  to  her  father's 
gate  for  her,  with  old  Whiteface  in  his  belt  of 
jingling  bells,  and  the  rather  old-fashioned  cutter. 

Susan  came  out,  with  her  pretty  rosy  cheeks,  a 
jay's  wing  in  her  hat,  and  her  sealskin  muff  and 
cape.  Chase  tucked  the  sleigh-robe  carefully  about 
her,  for  the  day  was  wintry,  and  they  started  off  in 
fine  spirits  for  the  rendezvous  of  the  party  at  Bell's, 
in  the  village. 

"Is  Laura  Fosdick going?"  Chase  inquired,  as  he 
touched  up  Whiteface. 

"I  don't  believe  she  is,"  said  Susan.  w  She  was 
to  have  gone  with  Worth,  you  know,  whe"  the  ride 
was  first  talked  of.     But  he  is  away." 


168  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  So  I  hear,"  replied  Chase,  dryly. 

The  mere  mention  of  Worth's  name  threw  a  shade 
upon  his  spirits.  He  hastened  to  cast  it  off  by 
talking  gayly  of  the  route  which  had  been  laid  out 
for  their  ride. 

"  We  shall  go  over  through  Mad  River  Notch," 
he  said  ;  "  keep  on  up  Mad  River  Valley  to  Meeker's 
Mills,  then  cross  the  East  Range  by  moonlight,  and 
so  on  down  to  our  valley,  to  Bell's,  where  we  shall 
have  a  good  supper,  and  good  appetites  for  it,  by 
that  time." 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  splendid  night,"  said  the 
happy   Susan. 

The  sun  had  already  disaj~>peared  behind  the  west- 
ern hills ;  but  the  distant  snow-covered  peaks  were 
wondrously  lighted  up  with  soft  tints  of  the  most 
delicate  rose  and  pink,  like  mountains  of  ice-cream. 
The  air  was  clear  and  crisp,  and  upland  and  val- 
ley were  outspread  in  all  the  purity  of  new-fallen 
snow. 

"Who  is  that  coming  behind  us?"  said  Susan. 
"It  must  be  some  of  our  party." 

Chase  turned  to  look  two  or  three  times,  as  the 
sound  of  sleigh-bells  following  them  drew  near.  A 
look  of  surprise  and  trouble  came  into  his  face, 
which  grew  dark  and  stern. 


ANOTHER   RACE.  169 

w  I  declare  !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  turning  her  head 
asrain ;  "it  is  Laura  Fosdick  and  Worth  Lankton ! 
Where  did  they  come  from  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  muttered  Chase,  with  an  ominous 
shake  of  the  head.  "  He'd  better  have  kept  away  ! 
I  wish  he  had." 

He  remembered  that  the  course  of  the  party  led 
through  the  village,  directly  past  Officer  Coffin's 
door.  He  was  amazed,  and  indeed  sorry,  that 
Worth,  Avho  had  once  got  well  out  of  the  way, 
should  have  taken  this  risk. 

w  They  know  us,"  said  Susan.  "  Worth  is  whipping 
up  his  horse.     He  means  to  drive  by  us." 

"  But  he  shan't !  "  said  Chase,  giving  Whiteface  a 
touch. 

They  were  approaching  the  village.  Worth  came 
close  behind.  His  face  had  a  daring  and  determined 
look ;  all  the  evil  in  him  flamed  out  at  sight  of  his 
enemy  ahead. 

"  Don't  race  with  him  !  don't  have  any  trouble  !  " 
Susan  pleaded,  foreboding  mischief,  as  they  were 
approaching  a  dangerous  part  of  the  road. 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  said  Chase,  holding  in  Whiteface, 
who  was  by  this  time  pretty  well  roused  by  the  whip 
and  tight  reins,  and  the  sound  of  rival  bells.     tf  Do 


170  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

you  want  to  go  by  ?  "  he  called  out  with  provoking 
politeness,  beginning  to  turn  out  as  Worth  came 
crowding  eagerly  up.     "  I'll  let  you." 

K  I'm  going  by,  whether  you'll  let  me  or  not,"  was 
Worth's  rude  response. 

At  the  same  time  he  reined  out  of  the  track  and 
gave  his  horse  the  lash. 

In  a  moment  the  two  cutters  were  alongside.  But 
this  insolent  retort  and  onset  were  too  much  for 
Chase.  He,  too,  laid  on  the  whip  and  let  out  the 
reins. 

Whiteface  was  awake.  And  he  had  one  advan- 
tage :  he  was  more  in  the  beaten  track.  But 
Lankton's  horse  was  the  better  roadster,  and  he 
had  got  the  start  while  Chase  was  holding  White- 
face  in. 

Whips  whistled,  snow  flew,  and  the  drivers  leaned 
forward  and  shouted,  each  striving  for  the  track. 
The  cutters  leaned  towards  each  other  and  nearly 
clashed,  as  the  outer  runners  ran  into  the  drifts. 

r  Don't !  don't !  we  shall  go  over ! "  screamed 
Susan. 

They  were  now  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 
There  was  a  great  bank  on  Chase's  side,  jus4  beyond, 
He  would  have  been  glad  to   avoid  it;    but  new 


ANOTHER   RACE.  171 

Worth,  working  ahead,  crowded  him  more  and 
more  out  of  the  track.  Higher  and  higher  went 
Chase's  outer  runner ;  and  just  as  Worth  shot  by, 
wild  with  triumph,  over  went  the  unlucky  cutter, 
and  Chase  and  Susan  were  tumbled  out  together  into 
the  snow,  in  full  sight  of  the  gazing  village. 


172  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   SHORT-LIVED   TRIUMPH. 

IT  was  a  complete  and  ridiculous  overturn.  For- 
tunately the  snow  broke  the  force  of  the  fall ; 
and  Chase  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  keep  a  tight 
hold  on  the  reins. 

Old  Whiteface,  at  his  best,  was  not  a  very  met- 
tlesome steed,  and  his  ardor  was  quickly  quenched 
in  the  deep  drifts.  Chase  righted  the  cutter,  and  got 
it  into  the  track.  Then  Susan  and  he  had  time  to 
look  at  and  question  each  other. 

They  were  covered  with  snow  from  head  to  foot ; 
and  she  had  lost  her  muff,  and  the  jay's  wing  out  of 
her  hat. 

"You  are  not  hurt?"  Chase  eagerly  inquired. 

"  No  ;  but  I'm  mad  as  I  can  be  !  "  At  the  same 
time,  conscious  of  spectators,  she  broke  into  a  laugh. 
"  A  pretty  figure  we  cut,  thanks  to  that  impudent 
Worth  Lankton." 

Chase  did  not  laugh.  He  brushed  the  snow  from 
her  neck  and  dress,  saying  resentfully,  — 


A    SHORT-LIVED    TRIUMPH.  173 

w  He'll  get  his  pay  for  it !  You'll  see,  before  this 
day's  sport  is  over !  The  fun  won't  be  all  on  his 
side,  I  assure  you." 

"  Don't  mind  it !  we  have  had  trouble  enough," 
said  Susan. 

"  Oh,  ive  are  not  going  to  have  any  more  trouble ; 
be  easy  on  that  score  !  " 

The  laugh  which  finally  came  to  his  lips  was  bitter 
and  menacing.  "  The  scamp  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
don't  care  so  much  for  myself ;  but  to  put  girls  in 
such  peril  —  it  was  dastardly  !  " 

He  shook  the  snow  out  of  the  sleigh-robe,  and 
helped  Susan  back  into  the  cutter.  Then  he  brushed 
her  muff  and  handed  it  to  her.  At  last  he  discov- 
ered the  tip  of  the  jay's  wing  peeping  out  of  the 
drift,  and  recovered  it,  to  her  great  delight,  though 
she  had  positively  assured  him  that  she  cared  nothing 
about  it,  and  would  much  prefer  the  two  wings  of 
the  bird  he  promised  to  shoot  for  her. 

By  this  time  Charlie  Budgett  and  Lem  Pavode 
drove  up,  with  Lem's  sister  and  another  girl,  all  in 
one  sleigh.  The  adventure  was  talked  over,  and 
Worth's  conduct  was  denounced  by  all  in  unmeas- 
ured terms.  Of  course,  it  never  occurred  to  Chase 
that  he  was  at  all  to  blame  in  the  matter. 

The  sleigh  followed  the  cutter  on  to  Bell's,  where 


174  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Chase  was  glad  to  find  occasion  for  a  little  delay 
Some  of  the  party  had    not    yet  arrived,  and  the 
number  of  plates  to  be  ordered  for  the  supper  had 
yet  to  be  determined. 

"  Go  into  the  parlor  with  the  girls,  and  get  warm 
after  your  ducking,"  Chase  said  to  Susan,  helping 
her  out  at  the  steps.  "  I'll  keep  Whiteface  moving 
a  few  minutes." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  Worth,  who  stood  haugh- 
tily beside  his  blanketed  horse  at  the  end  of  the 
piazza,  but  drove  quietly  past  him  and  disappeared 
round  the  corner. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  last  of  the  party  ar- 
rived;  and  then  the  inquiries  became  loud  for 
Chase. 

"  I  gave  his  horse  such  a  sweat  he  didn't  dare  let 
him  stand  still,"  said  Worth,  on  the  hotel  steps. 
"Sorry  for  what  happened  to  you,  Susie  ;  but  Chase 
was  to  blame." 

"  I  didn't  think  he  was  half  so  much  to  blame  as 
you  were,"  said  Susie,  curtly. 

"He  shouldn't  have  told  me  I  could  go  by,  and 
then  whipped  up  just  as  I  started  to,"  said  Worth. 
"That's  what  was  the  matter." 

"  He  couldn't  bear  to  have  you  go  by  him  in  the 
insulting   way   you  did,  and  I  don't  blame   him," 


A   SHORT-LIVED   TRIUMPH.  175 

replied  the  candid  Susie.  "  I  thought  you  were  out 
of  town." 

"I  wasn't  very  far;  and  when  I  heard  the  sleigh- 
ride  was  coming  off,  of  course  I  wanted  to  keep  my 
engagement  with  Laura.  So  those  who.  tried  to  get 
the  start  of  me,  and  have  the  ride  when  I  was  aAvay, 
didn't  make  out  very  well !  "  added  Worth,  sarcastic 
and  defiant.    "  What  are  we  waiting  for,  any  way?" 

"  I'm  waiting  for  my  driver,"  said  Susie. 

"  You  needn't  wait  for  him  ;  I'll  take  you  into  my 
cutter,"  said  Worth,  with  ironical  courtesy. 

"  That's  a  pretty  proposal !  "  cried  Susie.  "  How 
would  you  like  to  have  Chase  run  off  with  your  girl?" 

"  He  may,  if  he  dares,  and  if  I  give  him  a  chance," 
Worth  replied,  with  an  excited  air  that  gave  him 
the  appearance  of  gayety.     "  Come,  Laura." 

w  Let's  wait  till  all  are  ready,"  said  Laura. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  wait  for  anybody ! "  cried 
Worth.  "  I'm  going  to  take  the  lead  in  this  ride, 
and  let  anybody  pass  me  who  can !  " 

Others  remonstrated.  But  Worth,  angry  that 
there  should  be  any  delay  on  his  enemy's  account, 
hurried  Laura  into  the  cutter. 

The  rest  followed  their  example  ;  for  Worth  had 
a  powerful  influence  over  his  companions,  much  as 
they  often  disliked  his  overbearing  manners. 


176  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Only  Susie  .was  left  on  the  piazza.  But  now,  to 
her  great  joy,  she  saw  Chase  driving  up. 

He  was  coming  quite  slowly,  as  if  he  had  merely 
walked  his  horse  around  the  square  for  the  sake  of 
exercise.     At  sight  of  him  Worth's  eyes  gleamed. 

"  I  lead  !  "  he  cried  again,  tucking  the  robe  around 
Laura,  and  then  gathering  up  reins  and  whip.  K  See 
you  all  at  supper-time." 

But  just  as  he  was  starting,  a  man  who  had  walked 
along  the  sidewalk  a  little  ahead  of  Chase,  quickened 
his  step,  and  advancing  to  Worth's  side  of  the  sleigh, 
laid  his  hand  on  the  reins. 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet, 
business-like  way. 

"  What  —  what  is  it ! "  said  Worth,  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  afraid  some  of  the  rest  of  the  party  would 
lead  off. 

The  man  was  deliberately  unbuttoning  his  breast- 
pocket.    Worth  frowned  with  impatience. 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry,  Mr.  Coffin  !  " 

"I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  your  sleigh-ride,"  replied 
the  officer,  "  but  I  have  no  choice  in  the  matter." 

"In  what  matter?"  Worth  demanded,  in  quick 
alarm. 

"I've  a  mandamus  here,"  said  the  officer,  produc- 
ing a  document  from  the  same  breast-pocket. 


A  MANDAMUS.  177 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  MANDAMUS. 

WHAT'S  a  mandamus?"  Worth  demanded,  with 
a  look  at  once  frightened  and  fierce. 

By  this  time,  the  loaded  sleighs  and  cutters  were 
grouped  around  Lankton's,  their  occupants  looking 
with  excited  curiosity  to  see  what  would  happen 
next. 

Chase,  pale  but  polite,  srmling  with  nervous  lips, 
was  helping  Susie  into  his  cutter.  They  paused, 
and  everybody  listened  intently,  to  hear  Mr.  Coffin's 
reply. 

The   opening  of  the  overcoat  had  exposed  the 
officer's  badge  on  the  lapel  beneath.     He  was  a  car- 
penter by  trade,  and  did  not  usually  put  on  that 
ornament  except  when  he  had  official  business  on' 
hand. 

Moreover,  the  stealing  of  the  pocket-rifle  had  by 
this  time  become  known  to  all  the  town.  Theoe 
circumstances  gave  a  thrilling  interest  to  the  situa- 
tion. 


178  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"A  mandamus,  in  this  case,"  said  the  constable, 
w  is  Judge  Holgate's  writ,  commanding  me  to  take 
you  into  custody.  Would  you  like  to  look  at  it,  to 
make  sure  of  my  authority  ?  "  ., 

In  producing  and  unfolding  the  paper,  he  had  used' 
both  hands,  letting  go  the  reins. 

If  the  whole  scene  had  been  planned  for  Worth's 
utter  bewilderment  and  humiliation,  it  could  not 
have  been  better  contrived.  He  saw  his  enemy's 
hand  in  it ;  and  after  his  own  short-lived  triumph, 
this  revenge  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

He  looked  quickly  at  the  officer,  then  at  his  horse, 
then  gave  a  wild  glance  around  at  the  spectators. 
His  companions  were  not  alone  the  witnesses  of  his 
arrest.  Men  came  out  of  the  hotel  bar-room,  or 
crossed  the  street,  and  urchins  in  the  distance  ap- 
peared running  and  hooting. 

"  You  see  I  am  engaged  just  now,"  Worth  con- 
strained himself  to  say.  "  Wait  till  I  come  back 
from  my  sleigh-ride,  and  I'll  be  at  your  service." 

"  I  can't  very  well  do  that,"  replied  the  con- 
stable. 

"Do,  please!"  Laura  entreated,  in  great  alarm 
and  distress  for  her  companion.  "  For  my  sake ! 
You  know  my  father  so  well,  Mr.  Coffin  !  " 

"  I  know  his  father,  too .  and  should  be  glad  to 


A   MANDAMUS.  17& 

accommodate  you  both.  But  I  can't  let  him  go, 
without  I  go  with  him." 

M  Do  that,  then  !  "  cried  Laura.  "  You  ain't  a  very 
large  man.    We'll  make  room  for  you  in  the  cutter." 

But  Worth  was  not  a  fellow  to  submit  to  anything 
so  absurd.  The  idea  of  his  going  on  a  merry  sleigh- 
ride,  under  arrest,  and  sitting  between  his  girl  and 
an  officer ! 

M  How  long  will  you  keep  me  if  I  go  with  you 
now  ?  "  he  said,  quietly,  while  forming  a  desperate 
resolution." 

"Not  long,  if  we  find  the  squire  in  his  office,  and 
you  can  get  bail." 

M I  shall  have  to  send  for  my  father,"  said  Worth. 
"That  will  take  a  good  while." 

"Yes,  it  will,"  replied  the  constable.  w  I'm  sorry, 
but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  know  something  of  the  charge 
trumped  up  against  me,"  said  Worth,  with  rising 
fury,  as  a  full  sense  of  his  wrong  and  shame  rushed 
over  him.  "  It  can  be  easily  disposed  of.  But  this 
outrage  —  at  this  moment  — " 

"  Our  oyster  supper  is  ordered  !  "  said  poor  Laura ; 
who,  worthy  girl  and  good  speller  as  she  was,  had 
not  a  very  fine  sense  of  humor,  and  did  not  know 
why  her  remark  should  excite  laughter. 


180  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  We  can  eat  that  for  you,"  said  Charlie  Budgett, 
"  if  it  will  be  any  accommodation." 

The  situation,  which  had  at  first  threatened  to  be 
tragic,  was  fast  turning  to  comedy  ;  when  Worth, 
writhing  with  rage  and  mortification,  controlled 
himself  enough  to  say,  with  lurid  sullenness,  — 

"  I  don't  care  !  I'm  not  to  be  tricked  out  of  this 
trip.  I'm  going  to  have  my  sleigh-ride,  anyway  ! 
And  if  you  don't  mind  getting  in  and  riding  with 
us,  Mr.  Coffin,  all  right !    I  can  stand  it  if  you  can." 

"Very  well!"  laughed  the  constable.  "Perhaps 
this  is  the  best  way  to  settle  it.  I  hope  you'll  in- 
vite me  to  supper  when  we  get  back." 

He  was  quite  thrown  off  his  guard  by  Worth's 
apparent  willingness  to  accept  this  amusing  compro- 
mise. 

Worth  made  a  motion  as  if  to  rise  and  make  room 
for  him  in  the  cutter. 

"  Ned  ! "  called  the  officer,  to  a  youngster  on  the 
sidewalk,  "  go  around  and  tell  my  folks." 

Here  he  was  suddenly  interrupted,  and,  the  next 
moment,  he  might  have  been  seen  flying  through 
the  street,  clinging  to  the  back  of  the  departing 
cutter,  with  his  heels  kicking  up,  while  Worth 
lashed  the  horse. 

It  was  by  the  merest  chance  that  the  constable 


A   MANDAMUS. 


181 


had  caught  hold  when  Worth  made  that  nearly  suc- 
cessful feint  and  treacherous  start.  But  he  quickly 
recovered  his  self-possession,  and  refused  to  be 
shaken  off.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  fast  working 
his  way  into  the  cutter. 

Then,  in  his  desperation,  Worth  turned  and  tried 
to  force  his  hands  away,  and  got  his  own  wrist 
captured  by  the  alert  officer. 

Meanwhile,  Laura  was  screaming;  and  Worth, 
not  seeing  how  he  drove,  was  reining  his  horse  vio- 
lently into  a  drift.  Catastrophe  was  impending.  It 
was  over  in  a  minute.  The  cutter  was  upset,  and 
Laura  was  tumbled  upon  officer  and  prisoner  in  the 
burying  snow. 

For  officer  and  prisoner  they  still  remained. 
Nothing  could  unclasp  the  constable's  grip. 

Laura  scrambled  first  to  her  feet.  Then  Mr. 
Coffin  and  Worth  Lankton  got  up  together. 

The  horse  ran  a  few  rods  after  scattering  the  con- 
tents of  the  cutter,  when  he  was  stopped  and  brought 
back  by  a  couple  of  men  on  the  street. 

"  Well,"  said  Worth,  excitedly,  "  you've  beat  me  ! 
Now  put  on  your  handcuffs." 

ff  I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary,"  Mr.  Coffin 
replied.  w  I  can  easily  manage  boys  like  you  with- 
out 'em." 


182  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

w  I'd  rather  one  of  us  had  been  killed ! "  said 
Worth.    w  But  it's  all  right.     I'll  go  with  you." 

"  That's  about  the  wisest  conclusion  you  can  come 
to,"  remarked  the  officer. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  upset  you,  Laura,"  said  Worth, 
"  and  I'm  sorry  I  can't  keep  my  engagement." 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me  !  "  said  Laura,  crying.  "  I 
ain't  hurt,  and  I  don't  care  for  myself,  but  I  do  say 
it  is  too  mean." 

She  consented  to  get  into  the  cutter  and  ride  back 
to  the  hotel,  while  the  whitened  constable  walked 
before,  leading  the  horse  with  one  hand  and  his 
snow-covered  prisoner  with  the  other. 

"  Somebody  will  have  to  suffer  for  this  business  !  " 
Worth  exclaimed,  in  high  excitement,  as  the  crowd 
about  the  steps  opened  to  let  him  pass  through.  "  I 
don't  want  any  one  to  think  I'm  going  to  submit  to 
it  tamely.  I've  done  nothing  to  be  taken  up  for, 
and  I  shall  be  at  liberty  again  in  an  hour.  Sha'n't 
I,  Mr.  Coffin?" 

fr  I  think  it  likely  you  will,  if  you  behave  yourself," 
replied  the  officer.  "  But  it  won't  be  healthy  for 
you  to  try  any  more  of  your  tricks  on  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Worth,  now  for  the 
first  time  thinking  to  brush  off  the  adhering  snow 
from  his  clothes,  as  they  halted  at  the  steps.     "  I 


A   MANDAMUS.  183 

didn't  mean  any  trick  against  you.  But  to  be  the 
victim  of  a  rascally  outrage  —  at  such  a  time  !  " 

His  wrath  choked  him,  and  he  merely  added, 
w  Never  mind  !  "  with  a  savage  look  at  Chas?. 

His  companions  were,  in  the  mean  while,  consid- 
ering whether  they  should  continue  their  sleigh- 
ride,  after  such  an  interruption,  or  countermand  the 
order  for  supper,  and  go  home. 

"  What's  the  use  of  going  home  ?  "  cried  Charlie 
Budgett.     "  That  won't  help  anything." 

"But  what  will  become  of  Laura?"  whispered 
Susie. 

"Tell  her  she  can  ride  with  us,"  said  Chase; 
M  since  she  don't  object  to  three  on  a  seat.  I  guess 
I  shall  be  as  agreeable  to  her  as  a  police-officer." 

"  Oh,  but  that  will  be  too  cruel,  after — " 

And  Susie  told  him  of  Worth's  proposal  to  carry 
her  off,  and  his  defiant  offer  to  let  anybody  carry 
his  girl  off  who  coula, 

"I'll  do  it !  "  exclaimed  Chase.  "  But  don't  say  a 
word,  only  tell  her  that  her  friends  will  take  care  of 
her," 

This  Susie  did  quite  privately;  at  which  poor 
Laura  seemed  somewhat  cheered. 

She  had  got  out  of  the  cutter,  and  was  standing 
on  the  piazza  with  two  or  three  companions,  when 


184  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Worth,  after  a  consultation  with  his  captor,  said  to 
her:  "I'll  come  for  you  here,  as  soon  as  I  get  a 
chance.  But,  of  course,  I  haven't  any  right  to  ask 
you  to  wait  for  me.  Don't  wait,  unless  you  wish 
to.  I'll  get  somebody  to  take  you  home  in  my 
cutter,  if  you  would  prefer  that." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Laura.  "  But  you 
needn't  be  to  that  trouble.  I  don't  want  to  go  home  ; 
and  I  think  it  would  be  awfully  lonesome  staying 
here  ;  and  as  I  can't  help  you,  as  I  see,  perhaps  —  if 
you  have  no  objection  —  I'll  go  with  our  friends  ;  it 
seems  too  bad  I  shouldn't,  since  everything  has 
been  arranged  so,  and  the   supper  ordered." 

Worth  had  no  objection,  of  course.  He  gave  a 
sullen  assent,  and  walked  away  with  the  officer ; 
thinking  that  the  utmost  weight  of  humiliation  a 
mortal  could  bear  had  fallen  to  his  lot. 

But  there  was  more  yet  in  store  for  him. 

As  he  was  marching  ignominiously,  with  Mr. 
Coffin's  hand  under  his  arm,  to  the  door  of  Squire 
Holgate's  office,  the  sleighing-party,  having  finally 
got  started,  dashed  off  gay ly  with  flourishing  whips 
and  jingling  bells. 

Worth  paused  at  the  door,  as  the  procession  swept 
by  in  the  brilliant  twilight ;  and  looked  to  see  what 
horse  and  what  driver  led  off  in  his  place. 


A  MANDAMUS.  185 

The  horse  was  Whiteface,  and  the  driver  was 
Chase  Atway. 

There  were  two  girls  on  the  seat  with  Chase ;  and 
one  of  them  fluttered  her  handkerchief  cheeringly 
at  the  wretched  prisoner  left  behind. 

It  was  Laura  Fosdick.  That  was  an  ill-timed  act 
of  kindness  ;  although  she  meant  it  for  the  best. 

Others  followed  her  example.  A  dozen  hand- 
kerchiefs were  waved  from  the  departing  sleighs. 
At  the  same  time  a  suppressed  tittering  reached 
Worth  Lankton's  ears. 

He  watched  till  the  last  sleigh  passed ;  his  feat- 
ures wearing  some  such  dazed  and  despairing  look 
as  when  the  prize  of  the  pocket-rifle  was  awarded  to 
his  rival. 

Then  he  turned  and  entered  the  squire's  office  with 
the  constable. 


r 


186  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 


CHAPTER    XXVH. 

BEATEN   AGAIN. 

SQUIRE  Holgate  was  not  in  ;  but  he  soon  arrived, 
having  received  a  hasty  message  from  his  officer. 
He  shook  hands  with  Worth  in  a  kindly  manner, 
laid  off  his  hat  and  overcoat,  talking  in  a  common- 
place, genial  way  about  the  unusual  depth  of  snow 
for  March ;  looked  in  at  the  stove-door ;  and  then 
proceeded  to  light  a  kerosene  lamp  standing  on  the 
office-table. 

This  done,  he  sat  down  in  his  big  arm-chair,  and 
looked  scrutinizingly  at  the  prisoner. 

"Well,  my  young  friend,"  he  said,  "I  don't  sup- 
pose you  find  this  very  pleasant,  and  I  didn't  mean 
it  should  happen." 

"  It  wouldn't  have  happened  if  I  could  help  it," 
said  Worth,  sulkily,  from  his  chair  at  the  end  of 
the  table. 

"  I  can  bear  him  out  in  that ! "  added  the  officer, 
with  a  dry  laugh. 

w  Tried  to  get  away,  did  you  ?    I  heard  of  it  J  " 


BEATEN   AGAIN.  187 

said  the  judge.     "What  did  you  do  such  a  foolish 
thing  as  that  for  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  go  on  the  sleigh-ride  ;  I  had 
agreed  to,  and  I  had  a  girl  with  me,"  said  Worth, 
with  rising  wrath  at  the  recollection  of  his  wrongs. 

"That's  natural;  that  could  have  been  arranged 
if  you  had  only  come  here  first,"  said  the  judge.  "It 
wouldn't  have  taken  long." 

"  Arrange  it,  and  let  me  go  now,  then  !  " 

Judge  Holgate  shook  his  bushy  white  head. 

"That  will  hardly  do,  under  the  circumstances; 
we  can't  be  quite  so  indulgent  to  a  prisoner  who  has 
attempted  to  escape.  I  shall  have  to  put  you  under 
bonds  first."     Worth  sat  sullenly  silent. 

"Let's  see!"  the  squire  resumed;  "you  haven't 
had  your  supper." 

Worth  thought  bitterly  of  the  oysters  cooking  at 
Bell's,  but  made  no  answer. 

"And  you'll  want  your  father  here.  Where's 
your  horse?" 

"  Under  the  hotel  shed,"  muttered  the  prisoner. 

Squire  Holgate  turned  to  the  constable. 

"Suppose,  Coffin,  you  take  him  into  the  sleigh 
and  go  and  fetch  his  father.  You  can  wait  for  him  to 
get  a  bite ;  and  by  the  time  you  come  back  I  shall 
have  had  my  supper." 


188  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  But  I  don't  see  that  I  shall  have  had  my  suppei 
anywhere,"  remarked  the  officer. 

"There's  something  in  that,"  laughed  the  squire; 
and  he  had  to  tell  a  story  of  which  he  was  reminded. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care ;  I'll  go,"  said  the  con- 
stable.    K  Come,  my  lad  !  " 

These  two  functionaries,  it  will  be  noticed,  did 
not  perform  their  duties  at  all  in  the  stern  conven- 
tional way  described  in  romances,  but  used  more 
natural  and  humane  methods. 

I  trust  that  Worth  appreciated  their  gentleness. 
But  he  did  not  show  that  he  did ;  his  heart  was  too 
hot  and  full. 

Mr.  Lankton,  with  the  help  of  young  Tim,  had 
finished  the  evening  chores,  and  was  just  going  into 
the  house,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells 
on  the  bridge,  and  presently  saw  a  horse  and  cutter 
coming  to  the  door. 

"My  horse!"  he  said,  in  some  surprise.  "And 
"Worth  !  what  is  he  coming  back  for  ?  " 

Then  he  recognized  the  man  with  Worth,  and 
remembered  Atway's  threat,  and  the  officer's  omi- 
nous visit  of  the  day  before. 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded,  going  out  to  meet 
the  cutter  as  it  ploughed  its  way  along  the  half- 
trodden  track.     "  What  does  this  mean?" 


BEATEN   AGAIN.  189 

*It  means  that  I  am  taken  up  for  stealing,"  said 
Worth. 

" For  stealing !  stealing  what?  Not  that  pocket- 
rifle.     At  way  hasn't  dared  !  —  " 

"  He  has  dared,"  Worth  replied,  with  the  quiet- 
ness of  desperation.  "  Chase  pretended  he  wanted 
to  walk  his  horse  around  the  square,  and  went  and 
warned  Mr.  Coffin,  and  had  me  arrested  just  as  we 
were  starting  off  on  our  sleigh-ride." 

"  Coffin  ! "  cried  Lankton,  turning  to  the  officer. 
But  he  was  too  angry  to  go  on. 

"Of  course,  you  know  I  had  no  option  in  the 
matter,"  Coffin  hastened  to  explain.  "I  did  have 
yesterday,  but  not  to-day." 

"You  had  a  warrant  in  your  pocket  when  you 
came  here  yesterday!  Why  didn't  you  tell  me? 
You  have  acted  like  a  knave  and  a  traitor,  Mr. 
Coffin ! " 

And  Lankton  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  tear 
the  officer  from  the  sleigh  and  trample  him  in  the 
snow.  But  Coffin  still  kept  his  seat  and  retained 
the  prisoner  at  his  side. 

"  So  much  I  get  for  trying  to  do  a  neighborly 
action,"  he  said,  mildly.  "I  didn't  want  to  serve 
the  writ;   I'd  rather  have   lost  my  fee   a   dozen 


190  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  Then  why  have  you  served  it  ?  " 

"  That  is  your  fault,  Mr.  Lankton.  If  you  had 
gone  up  with  your  boy,  or  without  him,  since  he 
wasn't  at  home,  and  had  a  talk  with  the  squire,  as  I 
advised,  I've  no  doubt  he  could  have  settled  matters 
between  you  and  the  Atways." 

"  Never  !  "  roared  out  the  angry  farmer. 

"So  you  told  me,"  Mr.  Coffin  replied.  "You 
treated  me  more  as  an  enemy  than  the  friend  I 
was ;  and  received  the  squire's  suggestion  with 
altogether  too  much  contempt." 

"  I  was  mad  !"  Mr.  Lankton  exclaimed,  beginning 
to  see  matters  in  their  true  light.  "  I  believed  it 
was  all  a  bluff  game  on  the  part  of  Atway,  to  drive 
me  from  my  law-suit.  I  didn't  think  he  would  dare 
to  swear  out  a  warrant  against  my  son  ! " 

"  Well,  he  has  sworn  out  a  very  good  one,"  said 
the  officer.  "  It's  no  bluff  game  at  all ;  he  is  in  dead 
earnest." 

M  It's  a  most  villanous  piece  of  business  ! "  cried 
the  father,  his  wrath  changing  to  consternation. 
"  Have  you  told  me  the  truth  about  it,  Worth  ?  " 

"As  sure  as  I  live,"  said  Worth,  "I  haven't  got 
his  pocket-rifle !  " 

"I  know  it !  "  said  Mr.  Lankton.  w  It's  a  case  of 
malicious  prosecution.     But  what's  to  be  done  ?  " 


BEATEN  AGAIN.  191 

w  You'd  better  get  in  with  us,  and  ride  up  to  the 
squire's  office ;  that's  what  we've  come  for,"  Mr. 
Coffin  explained.  "The  boy  can  get  his  supper 
first,  if  he  likes." 

K I  don't  want  any  supper,"  said  Worth. 

w  Nor  I !  "  replied  the  farmer.  "  I'll  attend  to  this 
business  the  first  thing.  Be  turning  the  cutter ;  I'll 
be  with  you  in  a  minute." 

He  went  storming  into  the  house,  and  presently 
came  storming  out  again,  followed  to  the  door  by 
the  distressed  faces  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  He 
gave  Tim  some  directions  about  shutting  the  barn, 
kicked  the  snow  from  his  boots  on  the  side  of  the 
cutter,  and  got  in. 

Mrs.  Lankton  begged  Worth  to  take  a  luncheon 
in  his  hand,  but  he  surlily  refused.  And,  followed 
by  her  anxious  and  tearful  eyes,  he  rode  away  with 
the  two  men. 

Squire  Holgate  had  not  returned  when  they  reached 
his  office.  But  he  soon  came  in,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  farmer  in  his  usual  good-natured  way. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  and  see  me  yesterday  ?  " 
he  said.     "You  might  have  saved  this  trouble." 

Lankton  repeated  the  explanation  he  had  made  to 
the  constable. 

"  What !  "  said  the  justice  ;  "  did  you  believe  me 


192  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

capable  of  helping  At  way,  or  anybody  else,  to  play 
a  mere  bluff  game  ?  I  didn't  want  to  have  your  boy 
brought  here  in  the  custody  of  an  officer.  I  acted 
entirely  against  Atway's  will,  and  without  his  knowl- 
edge, when  I  directed  Coffin  to  keep  back  the  writ 
until  I  had  a  talk  with  you." 

"I  don't  see  what  good  talking  is  going  to  do,  if 
Atway  is  in  such  dead  earnest,"  replied  Lankton. 

"Oh,  I  know  about  these  neighborly  quarrels," 
said  the  squire,  seating  himself  comfortably.  "  There's 
generally  fault  on  both  sides.  I  never  got  along 
very  well  as  a  lawyer ;  for  that's  the  view  I  gener- 
ally took  of  a  quarrel.  Instead  of  saying  to  my 
client,  '  You're  right ! '  I  told  him  what  I  sincerely 
thought,  f  You're  partly  in  the  wrong  ! '  Instead  of 
shouting,  '  Fight ! '  I  whispered  in  his  ear,  f  Settle  ! ' 
In  that  way  I  prevented  a  good  many  lawsuits,  and 
lost  a  good  many  fees.  There  was  one  very  funny 
case  I  remember  —  " 

Here  the  good-natured  justice  branched  off  on  a 
story,  showing  how  he  had  once  not  only  lost  a  fee, 
but  been  outrageously  abused  by  the  client  in  whose 
interest  he  sacrificed  it. 

"  But  I  never  regretted  those  friendly  offices,"  he 
went  on.  "They  have  brought  me  something  better 
than  wealth.     I  keep  up  the   old  habit.     And  it 


BEATEN    AGAIN.  193 

occurred  to  me  yesterday  that  if  I  could  see  you 
and  your  boy,  and  induce  him  quietly  to  give  up 
the  pocket-rifle  — ■  " 

K  Give  up  !  "  interrupted  the  father.  "  Give  up  what 
he  hasn't  got !     Do  you  take  my  boy  for  a  thief  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  cried  the  judge.  "  Don't  use  any 
such  harsh  words  as  that.  I've  no  idea  he's  a  thief. 
But  he  had  some  trouble  with  the  Atway  boy  on 
account  of  the  gun ;  and,  according  to  Atway 's 
sworn  statement,  there's  pretty  strong  evidence 
that  he  took  it.  Come,  my  lad  !  "  he  said,  kindly  ; 
"this  is  a  mere  friendly  talk,  and  I  don't  ask  you 
to  say  a  word  against  your  will,  or  against  your 
interest.  But  I  believe  it  will  be  for  your  interest 
to  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell,"  said  Worth.  "  I  haven't 
got  his  pocket-rifle." 

"  And  you  didn't  go  up  in  the  woods  that  after- 
noon to  take  it  ?  " 

Worth  hesitated,  his  features  dark  and  writhing. 

"  Speak  out,  boy  ?  "  exclaimed  his  father.  "  Clear 
yourself  of  this  shameful  charge  ?  " 

"I've  nothing  more  to  say,"  muttered  Worth.  "I 
naven't  got  the  pocket-rifle." 

"But  did  you  take  it?"  urged  Mr.  Lankton. 
"Answer  his  question." 


194  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Worth  hesitated  again,  and  then  said,  — 

"  No,  I  didn't  take  it." 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  his  father.  "Now  what 
is  this  terrible  evidence  against  him  ?  " 

The  squire  recapitulated  in  a  few  words  Atway's 
statement  of  facts.  Then  first  the  father  learned 
how  serious  the  charge  was,  and  saw  that  there 
might  be  something  more  in  it  than  the  invention 
of  an  enemy. 

Worth  was  firm,  but  pale.  He  could  not  deny 
that  he  had  threatened  to  get  possession  of  the 
rifle,  and  had  followed  Chase  up  into  the  sugar- 
bush  afterwards.  But  beyond  that  he  would  admit 
nothing. 

w  Then  why  did  you  take  yourself  out  of  the  way 
yesterday?"  Squire  Holgate  inquired. 

"  I  didn't  take  myself  out  of  the  way  very  much," 
said  Worth.  "There  was  so  much  snow  I  couldn't 
do  any  work  at  home,  and  I  thought  I'd  go  and  see 
my  aunt's  folks,  over  the  mountain." 

"When  you  got  there,  why  didn't  you  stay?" 

"  I  found  they  had  scarlet  fever  in  the  house,  and 
my  aunt  sent  me  away." 

"  Then  this  trouble  with  the  Atway  boy  had 
nothing  to  do  with  your  going  off  ? "  queried  the 
squire. 


BEATEN   AGAIN.  195 

"I  don't  say  that,"  replied  Worth.  "Father 
thought  I  might  as  well  be  out  of  the  way  a  few 
days." 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  "  I  don't  see  but  we  shall 
have  to  give  the  case  a  hearing.  What  do  you  say 
to  to-morrow  evening  ?  " 

"  As  well  then  as  any  time,"  said  Mr.  Lankton. 

The  hour  for  the  examination  was  appointed  ac- 
cordingly. Worth  was  admitted  to  bail,  his  father 
becoming  his  surety.  The  bond  was  signed;  the 
constable  went  home  to  supper;  and  the  prisoner 
was  free. 

"  Where  are  we  going  now  ?  "  Worth  asked,  as  he 
left  the  office  with  his  father. 

M  I  must  go  and  see  our  lawyer,  and  get  him  to 
appear  in  your  defence  to-morrow  night." 

"  You  won't  want  me.  Let  me  take  the  horse 
and  cutter  an  hour,  won't  you?  I  want  to  pitch 
into  that  sleighing-party !  I  don't  want  to  give 
up  so." 

The  boy  had  a  wild  thought  of  encountering  the 
party  and  wreaking  some  revenge  on  Chase. 

But  his  father  wisely  refused  to  listen  to  him. 

"  Besides,"  said  he,  "  I  want  you  to  see  the  lawyer 
and  tell  him  your  story." 

"  I've  nothing  more  to  tell,"  Worth  declared. 


196  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

Yet  he  accompanied  his  father  to  the  consulta- 
tion ;  and  afterwards  returned  silently  and  reluc- 
tantly home  with  him,  to  await  the  dreaded  ordeal 
of  the  court. 

"Cbuse  has  beaten  me  again !"  he  muttered  to 
himself.  "  He  beats  me  every  time.  But  I'll  come 
up  with  him  yet." 


CROSSING   THE   INTERVALE.  197 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CROSSING     THE     INTERVALE. 

AT  the  preliminary  trial,  which  came  off  at  the 
appointed  time,  no  facts  were  elicited  with 
which  the  reader  is  not  already  familiar. 

Worth  sat  between  his  father  and  his  counsel,  and 
listened  with  sullen  looks  to  the  testimony  against 
him. 

He  remained  calm  while  Tomkins  and  John  Rich 
were  giving  their  evidence ;  but  he  could  hardly 
keep  his  seat  when  Chase  Atway  took  the  stand. 

The  little  court-room  was  crowded  with  specta- 
tors, among  whom  the  slouching  figure  of  Jim 
Lathbrook  was  conspicuous. 

Whenever  anything  as  exciting  as  a  court-scene 
was  going  on  in  the  village,  Jim  was  sure  to  be 
on  hand.  He  winked  prodigiously,  in  his  one- 
sided way,  when  he  saw  Chase  step  forward  and 
give  emphatic  testimony  against  his  old  friend. 

"  Perty  good  for  Damon  and  Pythias  ! "  he  said, 
with  keen  enjoyment  of  the  situation.    "  'Taint  much 


198  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

like  the  story  he  told  me  once  up  on  the  mountain- 
side, 'bout  the  friends  that  wanted  to  die  for  each 
other.     But  this  is  more  the  way  it  happens  in  life." 

It  was  no  pleasant  thing  for  Chase  to  do.  But 
having  made  up  his  mind  to  do  it,  he  did  it  with  a 
quiet  firmness  which  Worth's  lawyer  could  not 
shake. 

The  defence  had  little  to  offer  against  the  evidence 
of  these  principal  witnesses. 

Worth  himself,  when  called  to  the  stand  by  his 
lawyer,  denied  again  that  he  had  taken  the  pocket- 
rifle.  But  when  questioned  by  the  judge  as  to  the 
motive  which  took  him  into  the  sugar-bush  that 
day,  so  soon  after  his  quarrel  with  Chase,  he  de- 
clined to  make  any  explanation. 

The  result  of  the  trial  was  what  everybody  ex- 
pected. Worth  was  bound  over  to  await  the  action 
of  the  grand  jury,  and  allowed  once  more  to  return 
home. 

The  feud  between  the  two  families  was  now  at  its 
height;  and  I  doubt  that  anybody  was  made  the 
happier  by  it,  except  perhaps  the  law}^ers  employed, 
and  a  few  village  loafers  and  gossips. 

Meanwhile,  work  in  the  sugar-bush  had  been 
resumed;  and  it  continued  until  interrupted  by 
another  storm. 


CROSSING   THE   INTERVALE.  199 

This  time  it  was  rain,  bringing  with  it  thaw  and 
flood. 

There  had  been  a  brisk  run  of  sap  after  the  snow ; 
and  casks,  tubs,  and  kettles  were  full  when  the  rain 
came.  It  poured  so  heavily  all  one  night  and  day 
that  it  nearly  put  a  stop  to  the  boiling.  That  made 
Mr.  Atway  talk  seriously  of  rebuilding  the  sugar- 
house,  which  had  been  burned  two  years  before,  and 
been  temporarily  replaced  by  the  shanty. 

The  sap  was  still  to  be  boiled,  if  possible,  before 
it  turned  sour,  and  Tomkins  remained  in  the  woods 
to  do  it. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  rain,  Chase  went  to 
carry  him  his  dinner,  and  stayed  to  help  about  the 
work  until  late  in  the  afternoon.  Then  he  started 
to  return  home. 

The  rain  was  over,  and,  as  he  came  out  of  the 
woods,  a  scene  wonderful  in  its  wild  grandeur  met 
his  eyes. 

Clouds  were  drifting  low  along  the  mountain- 
sides, which  the  north  wind  and  rain  had  nearly 
swept  bare  of  the  last  heavy  fall  of  snow ;  ragged 
mists  were  rising  here  and  there,  and  white  torrents 
rushing  down. 

The  valley  was  of  a  dull,  mottled,  watery  gray, 
where   the  half-melted   snow   still   spread,   spotted 


200  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

with  brown  knolls,  dotted  with  trees,  and  marked 
with  the  dark  zigzag  lines  of  fences.  'lnrough 
the  midst  rolled  the  black  and  swollen  river,  over- 
flowing its  banks,  and  effacing  the  well-known  lines 
of  shore.  The  whole  was  strangely  lighted  up  by 
a  sky  seen  through  broken  and  flying  clouds. 

"  I  must  hurry,"  thought  Chase,  "  or  I  shall  find 
more  water  on  the  intervale  than  I  want  to  wade 
through." 

The  river  was  still  rising. 

The  snow  itself  was  half  water,  and  the  old  tracks 
through  it  were  mere  pools  of  water,  a  foot  deep,  all 
across  the  valley. 

Chase  had  on  high  rubber  boots,  which  protected 
him  tolerably  well.  But  it  was  a  slow  and  tedious 
tramp. 

The  water  grew  deeper  and  deeper  as  he  advanced, 
until  he  noticed  that  it  began  to  shine  and  ripple 
over  the  surface  of  snow. 

"  The  creek  is  getting  its  back  up  !  "  thought  he. 

He  would  hardly  have  known  where  the  river 
was  but  for  the  darker  and  swifter  current,  down 
which  rails  and  driftwood  were  floating,  and  for 
the  bridge  that  guided  his  course. 

But  it  no  longer  resembled  a  bridge.  It  looked 
more  like  a  raft  moored  in  the  midst  of  the  flood. 


CROSSING   THE    INTERVALE.  201 

"Somebody  is  losing  some  rails,"  said  Chase; 
ff  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  would  take  some  of 
Lankton's.  Luckily,  our  fences  are  all  staked  and 
ridered  ;  floods  never  hurt  them." 

He  was  thinking  that  it  might  be  a  good  thing  if 
a  clean  sweep  were  made  of  the  fences  in  dispute 
between  the  two  farms,  and  Lankton  were  obliged 
to  build  new,  when  he  heard  a  strange  noise,  and 
noticed  a  great  turmoil  of  waters  further  up  the 
stream.  A  vast,  outspread,  tumbling  and  sweep- 
ing wave  was  coming. 

"  Something  has  broke  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden 
spring  forward, — "a  dam,  or  an  ice  blockade  some- 
where !  " 

And  he  dashed  forward  toward  the  bridge. 

This  was  a  level  way  of  planks  resting  on  timbers 
flanked  by  heavy  logs  laid  across  from  bank  to 
bank. 

Chase  reached  it  without  other  mishap  than  a  cold 
splash,  filling  his  rubber  boots,  which  he  now  held 
up,  one  leg  after  the  other,  to  empty  the  water  out, 
resting  his  hand  on  one  of  the  logs,  and  watching 
the  on-coming  wave. 

Then  first  he  saw  the  peril  he  was  in.  The  flood 
would  undoubtedly  rise  higher  than  the  bridge,  and 
might  sweep  it  away. 


202  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

But  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  escape  to  the  lane 
beyond.  The  valley  was  like  a  lake  before  him  as 
behind,  and  the  rushing  billows  would  be  there  in  a 
moment. 

They  came,  bringing  flood  wood  and  masses  of  ice, 
rolling  and  crashing  with  a  loud  noise. 

Chase  glanced  wildly  from  side  to  side.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  must  be  some  escape  !  Seeing 
none,  he  sprang  to  the  log  on  the  lower  edge, 
resolved  to  cling  to  it  for  his  life,  whatever  hap- 
pened. 

He  had  barely  clasped  it  when  the  waves  came, 
struck  the  bridge,  dashed  violently  over  it,  lifting 
and  wrenching  it,  and  burying  it  and  him  in  an  icy 
torrent. 


THE   FLOOD.  203 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   FLOOD. 

MR.  ATWAY  had  driven  to  the  village  that 
afternoon,  to  see  his  lawyer. 

As  he  was  hitching  his  horse  at  a  corner,  he  was 
nailed  by  Jim  Lathbrook. 

"  How  long  'fore  you're  goin'  back  down  the 
valley?"  Jim  asked,  lounging  up  to  him  with  his 
usual  slouch,  and  his  twitch  of  the  left  cheek. 

K  I've  jest  come,"  replied  the  farmer.  "  I've  got 
my  plaguy  law-suit  to  look  after,  and  some  otker 
errands ;  so  it  may  be  late  before  I  start.  You 
want  to  go  home?" 

w  That's  jest  what  I  want,"  said  Jim.  "  And  I 
ain't  one  of  them  fellers  that  likes  to  walk  all  the 
way  when  I  can  ride  a  part  on't." 

"  Seems  to  me  it's  rather  soon  for  you  to  be  loaf- 
ing here  about  the  tavern,  after  the  storm,"  observed 
the  farmer. 

M  I  was  loafin'  here  when  the  storm  come  and 
Ketched  me,"  said  Jim.     "  Don't  make  much  differ- 


204  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

ence  to  me  where  I  be,  any  way,  provided  I'm 
co  mf  table." 

"  I'm  sure  it  don't  make  much  difference  to  any- 
body else,"  said  the  farmer,  dryly.  "  But  if  you're 
thinking  of  going  over  the  mountain,  I  advise  you 
not  to  wait  for  me.  If  we  don't  have  water  on  the 
intervale  before  night,  I  shall  miss  my  guess." 

"  They  say  they've  had  a  tear-out  up  Cold  Crick 
already,"  said  Jim.  "  And  there's  more  ice  left  in 
Mad  River  Valley  than  was  ever  known  afore,  at 
this  season  of  the  year.  We  shall  have  a  spill-over 
when  that  comes.  But  I  guess  I  can  git  home  fust, 
if  I  ride  part  way." 

"  There's  Pavode's  wagon,"  said  Mr.  Atway. 
"  Likely  he'll  be  going  before  I  do." 

"  Lowmy  Pavode  !  I'll  hook  on  to  him  if  he'll 
'low  me"  laughed  Jim. 

It  was  a  heavy  farm-wagon  with  muddy  wheels, 
and  a  boy  sitting  on  the  seat  holding  the  reins.  The 
boy  was  Lem. 

"  Where's  your  dad?  "  asked  Jim,  lounging  up  to 
him. 

"  He's  in  the  store  there,"  said  Lem.  M  I'm  wait- 
ing for  him." 

"  So  'm  I,"  said  Jim,  with  a  merry  wink  and 
twitch.     "  I'm  goin'  to  ride  with  him.     Maybe  him 


THE    FLOOD.  205 

and  you  don't  know  it,  but  it's  a  fact ;  in  case  you 
start  soon  enough  to  suit  my  convenience." 

Presently  Mr.  Pavode  came  out  of  the  store  with 
some  bundles,  which  he  put  into  the  wagon. 

M  You'll  be  welcome  to  ride,"  he  said  to  Lath- 
brook.  "But  I've  got  to  drive  around  by  the 
harness-maker's  first." 

"  All  right !  "  said  Jim,  and  got  in  on  the  seat  with 
Lem  and  his  father. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  Pavode  was  at  last 
ready  to  start  for  home. 

Just  as  they  were  driving  off,  Mr.  At  way  hurried 
over  towards  them  across  the  muddy  street. 

"  According  to  all  accounts,"  he  said,  "  we're 
going  to  have  the  biggest  flood  in  the  intervale  we've 
had  for  some  years.  If  you  cross,  Jim,  I  wish 
you'd  try  to  see  my  boy  —  if  he  hasn't  already  come 
home  —  and  tell  him  to  look  out  for  himself.  He 
was  with  Tomkins  in  the  sugar-bush." 

"  I  don't  go  that  way  'cept  in  good  weather,  and 
I  thought  I  should  try  the  long  way,  round  by  the 
lower  road,  to-day,"  said  Jim.  "But  I'll  look  after 
your  boy,  if  you're  anxious  about  him." 

"I'm  not  particularly  anxious,"  replied  the  farmer. 
ff  He  knows  we've  been  expecting  high  water,  and 
preparing  for  it.     But  boys  are  heedless." 


206  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"I'll  see  him,"  Jim  promised,  as  he  rode  away. 

"  Farmers  are  pooty  gener'ly  prepared  for  a  flood, 
in  our  valley,  I  guess,"  said  Mr.  Pavode,  whipping 
his  horses  along  the  miry  track. 

"  Chase  will  know  enough  to  take  care  of  himself," 
Lem  suggested. 

DO 

"  He'll  know  enough  if  anybody  does,"  said 
Lathbrook.  "  Smart,  Chase  is !  Best  speller  in 
school !  I  s'pose  you  know  about  his  quarrel  with 
his  old  friend,  his  Damon-and-Pythias  crony,  Worth 
Lankton  ?  "  And  all  of  one  side  of  Jim's  face  gave 
a  tremendous  jerk. 

"  I  know  of  that  to  my  sorrow  !  "  said  the  school- 
committee  man.  w  'Twas  me  that  offered  the  pocket- 
rifle  as  a  prize.  I'd  no  idee  it  would  lead  to  any 
sich  trouble  !  " 

w  'Twas  kind  of  a  queer  thing  to  offer  as  a  prize 
to  school-boys  !  "  remarked  Jim.  "  Some  folks  think 
all  sorts  of  pistols,  and  sich-like  trash,  is  dangerous, 
and  won't  let  their  boys  touch  'em." 

"A  good  many  blamed  me  on  that  account," 
replied  Pavode.  "  But  if  boys  want  to  play  with  'em 
and  git  hurt,  they  will,  spite  of  ye ;  and  my  idee 
is,  ye  may  as  well  trust  a  boy  with  a  gun,  and  l'arn 
him  to  be  careful,  as  try  to  keep  everything  of  the 
kind  away  from  him." 


THE    FLOOD.  207 

"Jest  as  you'd  learn  a  boy  to  swim,  'stead  o' 
try  in'  to  keep  him  away  from  the  water,"  remarked 
Lathbrook. 

"  Edzacly  !  And  how  did  I  know  Chase  would 
go  and  shoot  Lankt  oil's  dosr  ?  or  that  Worth  would 
spite  him  by  hookin'  the  rifle?  I  don't  see  what 
they  should  blame  it  on  me  for  !  "  said  the  unhappy 
committee-man.  "I  s'pose  now,  if  "Worth  goes  to 
jail,  or  if  the  two  families  go  to  murderin'  each  other, 
I  shall  have  to  shoulder  the  responsibility." 

"  Guess  th'  aint  much  danger  of  Worth's  goin'  to 
jail,"  said  Jim.  "He'll  git  off  some  way.  Fellers 
do.  But  it's  a  perty  good  joke,  I  call  it.  Sich 
friends  as  them  two  boys  was  till  they  had  somethin' 
to  quarrel  over  !     I  told  em  how  'twould  be  !  " 

He  was  winking  excitedly  with  one  eye,  when 
the  other  chanced  to  turn  towards  the  valley,  which 
now  came  into  view  beyond  an  orchard  they  were 
passing. 

"  Look  here,  Pavode  !  "  said  he,  sobering  instantly. 
"  River's  gittin'  high  !  Don't  ketch  me  crossin'  the 
intervale  to-night ! " 

"  You'll  have  to  go  in  a  boat,  unless  you  go  pretty 
soon,"  said  Lem.    "  Hark  !  what's  that  noise?" 

It  was  the  coming  flood,  the  far-off  roar  of  which 
was  heard  sweeping  down  the  valley.     In  a  minute 


208  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

the  advance  waves  appeared,  bearing  driftwood  and 
ice,  and  rolling:  hi^h  and  wide  over  the  river  banks. 

The  wild  clouds  flying  before  the  south  wind,  the 
torn  vapors  drifting  along  the  mountain  sides,  the 
black  river  winding  through  a  plain  covered  with 
watery  snow,  and  the  turbid,  rushing  flood  spread- 
ing out,  bow-shaped,  like  some  huge  creature  with 
plunging  beak  and  wings  covering  the  intervale,  — 
all  this  formed  a  scene  which  might  well  make  those 
viewing  it  from  the  high  road  hold  their  breath  with 
awe. 

"  I  never  see  the  like  o'  that  afore ! "  said  Jim, 
breaking  the  momentary  silence.  "  Dams  and  every- 
thing has  give  way  !  " 

"  Oh,  see  that  fence  go  !  "  exclaimed  the  excited 
Lem.     M  Just  like  kindling-wood  !  " 

"  Won't  be  much  but  trees  and  bushes  left  stickin' 
out  of  the  water  if  it  keeps  cornin'  as  fast  as  it 
spreads  out,"  said  Jim. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Lem  again.  M  Did  you  see?  When 
it  came  to  the  bend  in  the  river,  it  didn't  turn  out 
for  it  at  all,  but  jumped  right  over !  See  those 
bushes  bend  and  shake  as  the  driftwood  strikes 
'em  !  " 

Mr.  Pavode,  who  had  unconsciously  stopped  his 
horses,  now  whipped  up  again  vigorously. 


THE   FLOOD.  209 

w  There'll  be  damage  done  all  along,  in  spite  of 
everything  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
some  of  my  fences  would  go." 

"  And  the  Lanktons  !  Won't  they  ketch  it  down 
in  the  intervale  there?  "  said  Jim. 

"  Their  buildings  stand  pooty  high,  but  some  of 
their  shiftlessness  outside  will  git  wiped  out,  I 
guess,"  said  the  farmer,  laying  on  his  whip. 
w  Shouldn't  wonder  if  they'd  need  our  help." 

*'  Whip  as  fast  as  you  may,  the  water's  outrunnin' 
us,"  said  Jim.  "  It  goes  like  a  racehorse  !  It  didn't 
look  as  if  it  went  so  fast,  did  it?  Glad  I  ain't 
crossin'  the  valley  !  " 

"  I  hope  Chase  ain't !  "  said  Lem.  "  It's  down 
opposite  Atway's  by  this  time.     Do  hurry,  pa  !  " 

M  I  can't  git  along  much  faster  in  this  'ere  mud," 
replied  his  father. 

"  It  seems  to  be  tamin'  down ;  ye  can't  hardly 
hear  it  now,"  said  Jim. 

K  That's  because  it's  further  off,  and  the  orchards 
hide  it  again,"  said  Lem.  "  Gracious  !  don't  the 
mud  fly?" 

"  From  heels  and  wheels  !  "  said  Jim.  *  I'm  ffit- 
tin'  it  on  the  end  of  the  seat  here  !  What's  the 
use  of  hurryin'  now?     Don't  do  no  good.     Fun's 


210  THE    POCKET-RIFLE 

w  'Taint  you  I'm  hurryin'  for,"  said  the  farmer, 
who  had  by  this  time  got  his  horses  into  a  canter, 
notwithstanding  the  flying  mud  from  tires  and  hoofs. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  git  home  to-night.  Might 
as  well  have  staid  to  the  village,"  said  Jim.  "But 
then  I  shouldn't  have  seen  the  fun." 

Once  more  Lem  made  his  excited  outcry  as  they 
passed  an  intervening  orchard. 

"  Oh  !  Look  !  Atway's  bridge  !  There  ain't  a 
sign  of  it  anywhere  !  " 

The  bridge  had,  in  fact,  gone,  and  Chase  with  it. 

He  had  clung  to  the  log  even  while  the  flood 
overwhelmed  and  uptore  the  timbers,  and  still  for  a 
moment  afterwards,  until  he  was  forced  to  loose  his 
hold  in  that  rolling  chaos. 

It  was  a  strange  and  terrible  moment,  during 
which  he  thought  of  many  things  tumultuously,  — 
his  parents,  his  home,  the  winning  of  the  prize, 
which  was  so  much  to  him  once,  but  nothing  to  him 
now,  and  his  wicked  quarrel  and  triumph  over  his 
friend. 

Then  he  was  hurled  forward  amidst  the  trembnng 
fragments. 

That  the  bridge  had  vanished  was  plain  enough 
to  be  seen.  But  who  could  know  what  human  life 
was  imperilled  in  its  ruins? 


CATCHING   DRIFTWOOD.  211 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CATCHING    DRIFTWOOD. 

MR.  LANKTON'S  house  and  outbuildings  were 
on  a  gentle  elevation  of  land  which  the  spring 
floods  seldom  reached.  Only  once  or  twice  had  the 
boys  seen  the  water  come  into  this  barnyard ;  and 
though  nearer  the  river,  the  house  stood  higher  still. 

Anticipating  an  overflow,  Mr.  Lankton  had  that 
afternoon  got  his  stock  into  the  yard,  and  otherwise 
provided  for  emergencies. 

Tim  was  jubilant.  He  watched  the  gradual 
creeping  of  the  waters  over  the  banks,  and  hoped 
it  would  be  the  biggest  flood  ever  was. 

Even  to  Worth  there  was  something  pleasantly 
exciting  in  the  wild  aspect  of  the  heavens  and  earth 
after  the  storm.  Ever  since  the  night  of  his  arrest, 
there  had  been  a  black  cloud  on  his  spirit,  but  now 
it  began  to  lift. 

He  was  out  watching  the  river,  when  some  fence- 
rails,  with  other  driftwood,  came  floating  down.  A 
sudden  thought  striking  him,  he  ran  to  the  house. 


212  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  Get  the  clothes-line,  Tim  !  "  he  called  to  his 
brother.  "  We'll  save  some  of  those  rails.  They'll 
come  in  play  when  we  mend  our  fences." 

The  broken  fences,  which,  alas,  had  been  one 
principal  cause  of  his  trouble,  were  on  the  boy's 
conscience  ;  and  he  had  determined  that  they  should 
receive  some  repairs  that  spring. 

"  How  can  you?"  said  Tim,  bringing  the  line. 

"  I'll  show  you  !  " 

Worth  overhauled  a  box  of  old  junk  in  the  shed 
till  he  found  something  that  suited  his  purpose.  It 
was  the  handle  of  an  ancient  andiron.  With  this  in 
one  hand,  and  the  line  in  the  other,  he  ran  back  to 
the  river. 

"Oh,  there's  a  splendid  big  rail!"  cried  Tim, 
pointing  up  the  river.  "Play  it's  a  whale,  and 
you're  going  to  harpoon  him  !  " 

"  Hold  on  to  that  end  of  the  line  !  "  cried  Worth. 

At  the  same  time,  he  tied  the  other  end  to  his 
iron.  Then,  having  seen  that  the  coils  were  free  to 
run  out,  he  waited  for  the  rail. 

The  stream,  usually  narrow  and  gentle  enough, 
was  broad  and  dark  and  swift,  and  so  high  that  the 
boys  already  stood  ankle-deep  in  their  rubber  boots, 
well  back  on  the  slushy  bank.  The  rail  was  then 
three  or  four  rods  off,  shooting  rapidly  down. 


CATCHING    DRIFTWOOD.  213 

As  it  came  opposite,  Worth  hurled  his  iron.  The 
coils  did  not  unwind  properly,  and  it  fell  short. 
Another  fling,  a  few  rods  farther  down  the  stream, 
sent  it  just  beyond  the  rail. 

"  You've  harpooned  him  !  "  yelled  the  gleeful  Tim. 
"Now  haul  him  in?" 

The  iron,  as  it  splashed  into  the  water,  had 
carried  the  line  over  the  rail,  which  it  caught  and 
held  by  its  weight.  Worth  began  to  haul  in  gently, 
causing  the  rail  to  swing  in  the  current  towards  the 
shore.      There,  with  Tim's  help,  it  was  got  out. 

It  was  exciting  sport ;  and  in  pursuit  of  it,  the 
boys  followed  up  the  river  bank,  along  by  the  edge 
of  the  orchard,  until  they  were  at  some  distance  from 
the  house. 

Whenever  any  piece  of  driftwood  worth  saving 
floated  by,  Worth  would  fling  his  iron,  and  generally 
draw  in  his  prize.  The  sticks  and  rails  secured  in  this 
way  were  laid  up  on  the  somewhat  higher  ground 
of  the  orchard  behind  them,  until,  at  the  foot  of  an 
old  russet-tree,  they  had  got  a  goodly  pile. 

Meanwhile  the  water  continued  rising,  and  Worth 
stood  half  the  time  shin-deep  in  his  rubber  boots. 

They  often  had  some  trouble  in  getting  an  unruly 
"whale" — as  Tim  called  every  large  stick  —  out 
of  the  water.     At  length  Worth  said, — 


214  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"Kun  to  the  barn,  and  get  the  long-handled 
pitchfork." 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  cried  Tim,  "  we  can  spear  them  with 
that."     And  off  he  started. 

Worth  now  had  sole  care  of  the  line ;  and  to 
avoid  the  risk  of  losing  it  when  he  flung  his  iron  at 
a  distance,  he  tied  the  opposite  end  to  a  low  branch 
of  the  apple-tree. 

As  he  did  so,  he  remembered  that  limb ;  he 
remembered  that  it  was  the  same  tree  he  and  Chase 
had  climbed,  with  ladders  and  baskets,  to  pick  the 
russets  that  last  Saturday  afternoon  when  they  were 
friends. 

A  sudden  recollection  of  what  had  happened  since 
then  came  over  him.  He  gave  a  great  gulp  to  keep 
down  his  rising  heart,  and  saw  the  knot,  which  he 
was  slipping  up  on  the  limb,  through  a  gust  of 
tears.  Tears  of  grief  and  wrath  and  remorse  ;  grief 
for  the  loss  of  his  happiness  and  friendship ;  wrath 
for  the  wrongs  he  had  suffered,  and  remorse  for  his 
own  folly. 

How  beautiful  that  friendship  was  !  How  happy 
they  were  that  day,  picking  the  golden-brown  rus- 
sets in  the  October  sunshine  !  What  a  dream  it 
seemed,  and  how  madly,  how  utterly  it  had  been 
destroyed ! 


CATCHING    DRIFTWOOD.  215 

"  He  has  beat  me  every  time  !  "  the  boy  muttered, 
giving  a  savage  pull  at  the  cord. 

Ah,  could  he  have  gone  back  to  the  time  of  that 
russet-apple  picking!  But  that  was  impossible. 
He  had  been  too  bitterly  wronged. 

Much  as  he  missed  that  one  too-faithful,  too- 
devoted  friend,  he  was  not  sure  that  he  cared  to 
have  him  back.  His  strong  love  had  turned  to 
stronger  hate. 

The  tumult  of  his  thoughts,  the  splashing  of 
his  own  feet  in  the  water,  and  the  rush  of  the  swift 
river,  had  prevented  him  from  giving  heed  to 
another  noise  fast  approaching,  and  drowning  all 
lesser  sounds. 

But  now  it  grew  upon  his  ear;  and  casting  his 
eye  up  the  valley,  he  saw  the  great  wave  coming. 
He  had  no  thought  of  danger  to  himself,  though  the 
flood  might  overtake  him  and  rise  over  his  rubber 
boots  before  he  could  escape  through  the  orchard. 
But  what  he  was  anxious  about  chiefly  was  the 
safety  of  his  pile  of  driftwood,  which  had  cost  him 
such  pains. 

His  first  thought  was  to  take  a  turn  with  his  line 
about  a  few  of  the  best  rails,  and  leave  them  moored. 
But  he  saw  in  a  few  moments  that  he  was  too  late 
for  that.     He  had  barely  time  to  save  himself. 


216  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  Go  back  !  go  back  !  "  he  shouted  to  Tim,  coming 
with  the  fork  on  the  farther  side  of  the  orchard. 
"  The  water  !  the  water  !  " 

Tim  saw  it  through  the  trees.  At  the  same  time 
he  saw  his  brother  spring  into  the  apple-tree.  That 
was  enough.    The  boy  turned  and  fled,  shrieking,  — 

"  The  water  !  the  water  !  the  flood  !  " 

Worth  had  hardly  time  to  draw  up  his  legs,  with 
the  heavy  rubber  boots  on,  when  the  first  strong 
rush  of  the  shooting  rapids  swept  under  him. 

"  This  beats  all  the  floods  yet !  "  he  said  to  himself, 
securing  a  position  on  the  limb  to  which  his  line  was 
fast.     "If  I  could  only  save  some  of  that  driftwood." 

But  instead  of  saving  more,  he  was  in  a  way  to 
lose  what  he  had  already  got.  His  pile  was  begin- 
ning to  loosen  and  separate,  and  float  off  in  the 
waves  that  ran  up  into  the  orchard. 

"  That  must  be  Atway's  bridge  that  has  gone  to 
pieces,  and  I'm  glad  of  it ! "  he  muttered  vin- 
dictively. 

Just  then  a  faint  scream  rose  above  the  noise  of 
the  flood,  and  he  saw  something  like  a  human  form 
clinging  to  a  half-submerged  plank.  It  was  coming 
rapidly  down  in  the  main  current,  and  would  pass 
within  three  or  four  rods  of  the  tree  Worth  had 
climbed. 


CATCHING   DRIFTWOOD.  217 

He  had  already  reached  for  his  line  under  the 
limb,  and  partly  pulled  it  in.  A  few  yards  more 
drawn  up,  and  the  iron  would  be  in  his  hand. 

His  first  thrill  of  surprise  and  horror  was  followed 
by  a  swift  resolve  to  save  a  human  life.  Up  came 
the  iron.  He  grasped  it,  ready  to  fling,  when  he 
recognized  a  head  rising  above  the  waves,  and  an 
imploring  and  terrified  face  turned  towards  him. 

"  It's  Chase  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  sudden  and  terrible 
revulsion  of  feeling.     "  Let  him  go  !  " 

Chase  had  not  seen  Worth  in  the  tree,  but  was 
calling  for  help  in  a  blind  and  frantic  way. 

He  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  his  plank  out  of  the 
main  current  into  shallower  and  more  tranquil  water. 
But  he  durst  not  abandon  it,  for,  with  his  clumsy 
rubber  boots  on,  there  was  small  chance  of  swim- 
ming in  such  a  torrent. 

He  was,  moreover,  aware  that  something  had 
happened  to  one  of  his  legs.  He  had  not  thought, 
at  first,  of  any  pain  there,  but  in  his  struggle  among 
the  driftwood  and  broken  timbers,  he  found,  to  his 
dismay,  that  it  was  hurt  and  partly  disabled. 

He  was  free  from  the  driftwood  now,  and  so  near 
Lankton's  orchard  just  ahead !  If  he  could  have 
succeeded  in  kicking  off  his  boots,  and  had  two 
good  legs  at  his  service,  he   might  at  least  have 


218  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

reached  a  tree.  As  it  was,  he  continued  to  drift 
helplessly  down. 

Suddenly  a  shout  answered  his  call,  —  a  well- 
known,  strong,  penetrating  voice,  from  the  edge 
of  the  orchard,  as  he  was  borne  past. 

"  Here,  Chase  !  look  alive  !  " 

He  glanced  up,  and  saw  his  foe  in  the  apple-tree, 
safe  above  the  flood. 

A  missile  was  swinging  from  a  short  end  of  a  line 
in  Worth's  hand.  He  was  preparing  to  heave  it, 
Chase  believed,  at  him. 

"  O  Worth  !  "  he  shrieked  out  in  his  agony. 

"  Catch  this  !  "  cried  Worth,  and  hurled  his  iron. 

It  flew  high  over  Chase's  head,  just  before  him, 
and  falling  with  a  splash  into  the  river,  brought  the 
line  down  across  the  plank,  within  his  reach. 

With  a  sudden  heart-leap  of  hope  and  gratitude, 
Chase  saw  the  flying  line,  and  recognized  Worth's 
real  intent. 

For  Worth  had  not  obeyed  his  first  impulse  to 
drop  the  iron  back  into  the  water,  and  watch  from 
the  tree  while  his  enemy  went  down.  Hard  as  his 
heart  was  towards  him,  it  was  not  so  hard  as  that. 

"Hold  on  to  it !  "  he  shouted,  "Til  haul  you  in  !" 
Chase  grasped  the  line  and  clung  fast.  Then  Worth 
laid  his  breast  upon  the  limb,  and  with  his  arms 


CATCHING   DRIFTWOOD.  219 

extended  under  it,  hauled,  hand  over  hand,  with  all 
his  might.  Plank  and  rider  swept  around  in  the 
current,  and  moved  slowly  up  towards  the  tree. 

"  Now  you're  safe  !  "  cried  Worth.  "  Let  your 
plank  go,  but  hold  tight  to  the  line  !  " 

Chase  obeyed,  and  scrambling  desperately,  regard- 
less of  the  pain  the  effort  caused  his  injured  leg, 
with  the  help  of  Worth  and  the  rope  he  mounted 
into  the  tree. 

He  climbed  drippingly  upon  one  low  limb,  while 
Worth  sat  opposite  on  another,  the  flood  rolling 
under  them.  And  there,  having  gathered  breath 
after  the  last  violent  struggle,  the  two  enemies,  once 
friends,  looked  at  each  other. 


220 


THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


"  W"0RTH'"  Chase  gasped  out, 
■  »     "  you  and  >  that   line   saved 

me!    I'm  ever  so  much  obliged." 
"You  needn't  say  that,"  Worth 

replied,    stern,    but    agitated.   "I 

would   have   done    the    same    for 

anybody." 

"I  know  you  would  !  "  exclaimed 

Chase,  brokenly.      "  Because  you 


IN   THE    APPLE-TREE.  221 

are  the  bravest  and  best  fellow  in  the  world  —  when 
you've  a  mind  to  be." 

Worth  scowled  sullenly. 

"I  always  did  say  that  for  you,  and  always 
will !  "  said  Chase,  weak  and  trembling. 

"  I'd  have  done  it  sooner  for  anybody  else !  " 
Worth  added,  grimly,  after  a  pause.  "  I  had  a  good 
mind  to  let  you  go." 

"  I  couldn't  have  blamed  you  if  you  had,"  said 
Chase.     "  And  maybe  you'll  be  sorry  you  didn't." 

All  courage,  all  resentment,  seemed  to  have  gone 
out  of  him  with  his  strength.  He  was  hatless,  his 
drenched  hair  still  dripped  with  his  clothing,  he 
shook  from  head  to  foot  with  terror  and  cold. 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  broken  by  the  rushing 
and  gurgling  flood,  Worth  fixed  his  dark,  determined 
eyes  upon  him.  He  noticed  that  Chase  braced  him- 
self with  one  foot  against  a  crotch  of  the  tree,  while 
he  seemed  trying  to  find  an  easy  position  for  the 
other. 

Then  a  little  drop  of  pity  started  from  the  sullen 
heart. 

"  Is  your  leg  hurt  ?  "  Worth  asked,  but  still  in  a 
cold,  forbidding  tone. 

N  Yes  ;  it  got  jammed  somehow  when  the  ice  and 
noodwood  tumbled   over  on  me.      I  was  so  near 


222  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

being  drowned  and  bruised  to  death  generally,  i 
didn't  mind  it  till  I  tried  to  swim." 

So  saying,  Chase  suppressed  a  groan,  and  fixed 
his  brow  and  lips  with  a  resolute  expression,  while 
he  tried  once  more  to  find  ease  for  his  leg. 

There  was  another  silence.  Worth  looked  as  if 
he  meant  to  forget  his  enemy's  presence ;  glancing 
down  and  around  at  the  wild  water. 

A  hencoop  went  by ;  then  a  drowned  calf,  still 
tied  to  a  rail  of  its  pen  which  had  been  carried  away 
with  it.  Meanwhile  the  flood  rose  higher  and  higher 
in  the  orchard,  reaching  some  of  the  lower  limbs, 
and  the  trunks  even  of  the  trees  that  stood  on  more 
elevated  ground. 

It  looked  like  an  orchard  growing  out  of  a  lake, 
or  rather  out  of  a  vast  onward-sweeping  stream. 
The  flood  parted  at  the  knoll  on  which  the  buildings 
stood,  flowing  around  both  ways ;  but  it  was  fast 
rising  over  that. 

Excited  and  anxious  as  he  was,  in  view  of  all 
this,  Worth  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  coming 
back  to  Chase,  suffering  with  cold  and  the  pain  of 
his  hurt. 

He  held  his  peace  as  long  as  he  could,  and  was 
angry  with  himself  when  at  last  he  couldn't  help 
saying,  — - 


IN   THE    APPLE-TREE.  223 

"  Change  branches  with  me ;  you  can  sit  easier 
here,  and  rest  your  leg." 

Chase  drew  a  quick,  shivering  breath. 

"I'm  very  well  here,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause. 
"  I'm  only  too  thankful  to  be  out  of  that  horrible 
water,  in  a  dry  apple-tree  ! " 

"You  are  cold,"  Worth  then  said,  seeing  how  he 
shook. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  am  —  now  I  think  of  it," 
replied  the  drenched  and  shuddering  boy.  w  But 
I'm  not  half  so  cold  as  I  was.  I  tell  you,  that  ice- 
water  made  me  ache  to  the  very  marrow  of  my 
bones.  I  remember  it  now  ;  though  I  hardly  thought 
of  it  at  the  time." 

He  was  getting  more  and  more  possession  of  him- 
self. Seeing  Worth's  troubled  eyes  studying  him, 
he  added,  — 

"  I  should  have  died  of  cold,  sure,  if  you  hadn't 
helped  me  out !  " 

The  tones  of  his  voice,  tremulous  and  broken, 
and  the  look  he  gave  his  rescuer,  were  full  of 
gratitude.  That,  and  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  a  humane  action,  softened  Worth's  heart  more 
and  more,  in  spite  of  himself. 

He  hesitated  awhile,  then  said,  with  a  sort  of 
surly  and  unwilling  benevolence,  — 


224  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"You'll  take  cold  ;  tie  this  over  your  head." 

And  pulling  a  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket  he 
tossed  it  to  his  enemy. 

"  I  don't  need  it,"  said  Chase.  "  But,  if  you  say 
so — By  George  !  "  with  a  gush  of  feeling  —  "  you're 
a  trump,  Worth  !  " 

As  he  bound  the  handkerchief  over  his  head,  you 
could  hardly  have  told  whether  the  look  with  which 
Worth  watched  him  was  more  of  compassion  or  of 
anger. 

Chase  was  still  blue  and  shaking.  After  once 
more  looking  around  on  the  flood,  and  trying  to 
forget  him,  Worth  said, — 

"You'll  surely  get  a  chill.  You'd  better  put  on 
my  coat." 

"  Oh  no,  I  won't  do  that ;  you'll  be  cold  yourself !  " 
Chase  objected.     "  I'm  really  quite  comfortable." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  die  of  a  chill  now  I've  been 
to  the  trouble  of  helping  you  out  of  the  water," 
said  Worth,  with  grim  humor.  "Nobody  knows 
how  long  we  may  have  to  stay  in  this  tree.  Here, 
you  must  take  it !  " 

And  having  actually  pulled  off  his  coat,  he  swung 
it  over  to  Chase. 

"  After  all  I've  done  to  you!  "  said  the  wretched, 
penitent  Chase. 


IN   THE    APPLE-TREE.  225 

"  You've  beat  me  every  time,"  Worth  muttered, 
"  But  never  mind.     Take  it !  " 

And  he  swung  the  coat  again. 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so,  —  for  a  few  minutes,  —  if 
I  must !"  Chase  faltered,  this  time  catching  the  gar- 
ment. "  But  it's  too  bad !  "  seeing  that  Worth 
remained  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

f?  I  shan't  miss  it ;  I've  got  on  warm  under- 
clothes," said  Worth.     "Pull  off  your  wet  one." 

"  I'll  keep  that  on,"  said  Chase.  "  And  I'm  not 
going  to  wet  the  inside  of  yours  for  you." 

So  saying,  he  threw  Worth's  coat  over  his  shoul- 
ders inside  out,  and  held  it  by  the  sleeves. 

"I  should  think  you  might  do  as  I  say,"  said 
Worth,  dissatisfied. 

But  Chase  remained  obstinate.  It  was  hard 
enough  for  him  to  accept  even  thus  much  from  his 
foe. 

After  another  silence,  he  said,  — 

"  You  say  I've  beaten  you.  Maybe  I  have  two  or 
three  times.     But  you've  beaten  me  once  for  all." 

"When,  I'd  like  to  know?"  said  Worth,  with 
sudden,  dark  recollections. 

"To-day  —  now,"  answered  Chase.  Worth  was 
visibly  moved. 

If  you  would  have  your  heart  soften  towards  one 


226  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

who  has  injured  you,  do  him  a  service.  Worth  had 
not  designed  any  such  result;  and  when  it  came, 
enforced  by  Chase's  reply,  it  surprised  him  almost 
to  tears. 

"  Do  you  remember  this  tree  ?  "  he  abruptly  asked. 

"  It's  the  russet-tree,  where  we  picked  apples  that 
Saturday  afternoon,"  said  Chase. 

Then  both  were  silent  again,  each  occupied  with 
his  own  thoughts. 

Meanwhile,  the  broken  clouds  flamed  up  with  a 
lovely  sunset  flush,  the  reflection  of  which  changed 
all  the  overflowing  valley  to  a  crimson  sea.  And 
there  the  two  boys  still  sat,  perched  above  it,  each 
on  his  apple-tree  limb. 

"Your  bridge  is  gone,"  said  Worth. 

"Yes,  and  I  went  with  it,"  said  Chase.  "I 
stuck  to  a  log  at  first,  but  it  rolled  over  with  me,  so 
I  was  glad  to  swap  it  for  a  plank.  What  were  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

"  Getting  flood-wood,"  said  Worth.  "  But  the 
flood  took  back  all  I  had  got,  and  came  pretty  nigh 
taking  me."  He  was  beginning  to  appear  more  like 
the  Worth  of  old  times. 

Just  then  his  father  called  from  the  house. 

"  Here  I  am !  safe  in  a  tree  !  "  Worth  shouted 
back. 


IN   THE    APPLE-TREE.  227 

«  We've  no  boat  this  year,"  he  said  to  Chase  ;  "  and 
he  can't  help  us.  Besides,  he  has  his  hands  full 
taking  care  of  things,  I  guess  !  " 

Chase  now  gave  back  the  coat,  declaring  that  he 
was  quite  warm  without  it. 

"  Well,  you  haven't  let  it  do  you  much  good,"  said 
Worth.  He  took  it  reluctantly,  but  hung  it  over 
the  limb.  It  was  some  time  before  he  would  con- 
sent to  put  it  on. 

M  I  can't  see  pa  anywhere,"  said  Chase,  after  look- 
ing anxiously  up  the  valley.  "  He's  away,  and  don't 
know  anything  of  what  has  happened  to  me." 

Then  he  remembered  with  a  wretched  sinking  of 
the  heart  that  his  father  had  gone  to  see  about  that 
unhappy  "  dead-dog  law-suit." 

"  Worth ! "  he  said,  after  another  pause  of  a 
minute  or  two,  "what  a  good  time  we  had  picking 
apples  in  this  tree  !     Do  you  remember  ?  " 

w  There  are  things  that  can't  be  forgotten  !  "  Worth 
replied,  with  darkly  working  features. 

11 1  wish  some  things  could  be  !  "  exclaimed  Chase. 
"  Why  couldn't  we  always  have  been  friends  —  as 
we  were  on  that  day  ?  " 

Worth's  resentful  mood  was  returning.  He 
flashed  an  angry  look  on  Chase,  and  muttered,— 

"  It's  fine  for  you  to  ask  that  question  !  " 


228  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"You  may  hate  me!"  said  Chase.  "But  —  to 
think  of  your  doing  me  this  good  turn  —  after  all 
that  has  happened  !     I  can't  get  over  it !  " 

Worth  was  silent  a  moment,  his  lip  and  eye  quiv- 
ering.    Then  his  fury  broke  forth. 

"  There  are  things  I  can  never  forget,  and  things 
I  can  never  forgive.  I  have  been  treated  by  you 
and  your  father  as  I  didn't  believe  it  possible  for 
human  beings  to  treat  another." 

"O  Worth!"  said  Chase,  pleadingly.  "You 
know  how  we  were  driven  to  it." 

"The  way  I  was  arrested,  and  taken  before  a 
justice,  and  charged  with  stealing,  with  you  for  a 
witness  against  me,  in  a  room  full  of  staring  spec- 
tators ! —  I  can  never  get  over  it,  never,  never!" 
exclaimed  Worth,  with  tears  of  rage  at  these  recol- 
lections. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  was  all  poor  Chase  could  say.  "  I 
am  very  sorry." 

There  was  silence  again.  Worth  was  actually 
weeping. 

Chase  felt  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  justify 
himself  for  his  conduct,  and  to  justify  his  father, 
too.  But  he  could  not  speak  it  without  throwing 
heavy  blame  upon  Worth ;  and  it  was  no  time  for 
that.     So  he  held  his  peace. 


IN   THE   APPLE-TREE.  229 

w  I  remember  what  you  said  to  me  that  Saturday, 
m  this  very  tree  ! "  Worth  broke  forth  again,  but 
now  with  less  anger  than  grief.  w  You  could  never 
bear  to  be  separated  from  me ;  and  if  I  went  away 
from  home,  you  would  go  too.  You  were  picking 
apples  from  the  end  of  that  very  limb  over  your 
head." 

"  I  remember  it,"  said  Chase. 

"  And  now  see  what  you  have  done  !  See  how  we 
are  separated !  "  said  Worth,  in  passionate  anguish 
of  soul.  w  We  are  in  the  same  tree  again,  but 
thousands  of  miles  apart.  If  we  had  remained 
friends,  and  I  had  gone  away,  and  the  whole  round 
world  had  been  between  us,  we  should  still  have 
been  nearer  together  than  we  are  now,  or  can  ever 
be  again." 

The  emotion  of  his  deep  and  intense  nature  made 
him  eloquent.  In  reply  to  this  outburst,  Chase  could 
only  say,  — 

"  How  could  it  ever  have  happened  ?  I  don't 
know ! " 


230  THE   POCKET-KIFLE. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

LOWMY    PAVODE'S    BOAT. 

THE  water  had  now  nearly  ceased  to  rise,  and  tne 
turbulence  of  its  first  onset  had  subsided. 
Having  filled  the  valley,  it  lay  in  a  tranquil,  shining 
sheet ;  with  still  a  powerful  current,  however,  along 
the  old  channel. 

The  sunset  glow  faded  from  the  sky  and  from  the 
flood.  The  gloom  of  approaching  night  was  settling 
down.  The  wind  had  died  away.  There  was  a  chill 
in  the  air.  The  prospect  to  poor,  shivering  Chase, 
at  least,  was  dismal  enough. 

After  a  while  Worth  got  the  better  of  his  excited 
feelings,  and  said,  calmly,  — 

"  It  won't  take  many  hours  for  the  water  to  go 
down.  But  in  the  mean  time  I  don't  like  the  idea  of 
spending  the  night  in  this  tree." 

"  I  could  get  to  your  house  if  it  wasn't  for  my 
leg,"  said  Chase.  "  And  you  can  if  you  don't  mind 
tretting  wet.    That's  something  I  can't  recommend  !  " 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you,"  said  Worth. 


LOWMY   PAVODE'S   BOAT.  231 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself.  But  you'll  get  your  death 
from  your  drenching  if  you  stay  here  much  longer." 

That  sounded  like  the  Worth  of  old  times  once 
more.  Chase  was  afraid  to  answer,  lest  he  should 
stir  up  again  recollections  of  their  hideous  feud. 

They  had  had  glimpses  of  the  Lanktons  gathering 
up  objects  adrift  about  the  yard,  and  saving  scared 
pullets  from  drowning.  Now  everything  was  quiet. 
The  house  had  escaped,  but  Worth  was  sure  the 
water  must  have  reached  the  barn  and  stable. 

Mr.  Lankton  at  length  appeared  at  the  fence  on 
the  upper  side  of  the  orchard,  and  standing  knee- 
deep  in  water,  called  out  to  know  how  Worth  was 
getting  along. 

"  Comfortably  ;  though  I  don't  fancy  roosting  here 
all  night,"  Worth  replied,  saying  nothing  of  Chase, 
whom  his  father  had  not  discovered. 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  Mr.  Lankton  shouted  again. 
"  I'll  make  some  sort  of  a  raft,  and  bring  you  off, 
if  you  can  wait." 

"Hurry  up  !  "  said  Worth. 

"  What  will  he  think  when  he  sees  me  ? "  said 
Chase. 

"He'll  think  as  I  do,  that  the  sooner  you  get  into 
dry  clothes,  the  better." 

Then,  suddenly,  Worth  added,  — 


232  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  There's  a  boat  down  yonder  !  It  is  coming  this 
way." 

"  Three  persons  in  it,"  said  Chase.  "  One  rowing, 
and  one  pushing  with  a  pole." 

"  Let's  fly  a  signal !  "  cried  Worth. 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  handkerchief,  when 
he  remembered  that  it  was  on  Chase's  head. 

Chase  pulled  it  off,  and*  fluttered  it  from  the  limb. 

"It  will  be  a  good  while  before  they  see  that," 
said  Worth.  "  They  are  keeping  in  shallow  water 
over  the  fields.     I'll  yell  at  them." 

And  he  yelled  accordingly. 

"  They  hear  !  they  see  us  ! "  Chase  exclaimed.  "  It's 
Lem  Pavode  in  the  bow.     He  swings  his  hat." 

"  It's  Lowmy  Pavode  himself  rowing,"  said  Worth. 
"The  stone-walls  will  be  in  their  way,"  —  as  the 
boat,  still  keeping  well  off  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
river,  approached  the  lane  that  led  from  the  main 
road  to  Mr.  Lankton's  house. 

But  the  walls  were  low.  They  were  Lankton 
walls,  with  frequent  gaps  where  the  stones  had 
tumbled  out. 

Towards  one  of  the  gaps,  wThere  the  water  flowed 
over,  the  boat  directed  its  course,  and  passed  it 
without  difficulty.  Then,  turning  down  the  lane,  it 
found  an   opening  in  the  other  wall  between  the 


LOWMY   PAVODE'S    BOAT.  233 

oordering  elm-trees  standing  in  the  flood,  and  floated 
through. 

"  The  man  poling,"  said  Chase,  "  is  that  wretch 
Jim  Lathbrook.     I  thought  I  knew  his  slouch." 

The  boat  kept  well  up  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  until  nearly  opposite  the  boys  in  the  tree,  then 
struck  diagonally  across  the  current. 

It  was  an  old  flat-bottomed  skiff  with  three  or  four 
inches  of  water  in  the  bottom.  Worth  hailed  it 
with  a  glad  hurrah. 

"  I  thought  your  folks  might  need  a  helpin'  hand," 
said  Mr.  Pavode,  after  Lem  had  got  hold  of  the  line 
Worth  threw  to  him.  M  Hearing  you  yell,  we  come 
to  you  fust.     That  ain't  Tim  with  ye  ?  " 

He  had  not  recognized  Worth's  companion,  bare- 
headed, in  his  wet  hair. 

"  It's  Chase  !  Chase  Atway  !  "  cried  Lem,  hauling 
in  the  line,  and  bringing  the  boat  to  the  tree. 

Jim  had  dropped  his  pole  and  laid  hold  of  the 
line  to  help.  But  he  now  paused  to  give  a  pro- 
digious twitch  of  his  eye  and  cheek. 

w  If  it  don't  beat  all  creation  !  "  he  said.  w  Damon 
and  Pythias  up  a  tree  !  " 

"Come  aboard,"  said  Mr.  Pavode.  "You  won't 
mind  the  leaky  boat,"  he  added,  as  Worth  stepped 
down  into  it.    "  There's  more  water  outside  than  in." 


234 


THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


Tf  Come,  Chase  !  "  said  Worth,  reaching  to  help 
him  down  without  injury  to  his  disabled  leg. 
w  We're  all  right  now." 


"  The  old  boat  has  been  drying  up  in  the  barn,  all 
winter,"  said  Lem  ;  w  and  we  came  off  without  any- 
thing to  bale  with." 

"  I'm  only  too  glad  to  get  into  anything  that  will 


23a 

float,"  said  Chase,  seating  himself  at  the  bow.  "I 
never  expected  to  again,  one  while." 

"You  look  as  though  you'd  been  in  the  water," 
said  Jim. 

"Well,  I  have!"  said  Chase.  "I  was  on  our 
bridge  when  it  went.  Can  you  take  me  home,  Mr. 
Pavode?" 

"No,  he  can't,"  said  Worth.  "You're  going  to 
our  house  for  dry  clothes  first.  Give  me  an  oar. 
Let  go  the  line,  now,  Lem !  " 

It  was  odd  to  see  the  boat  navigating  among  the 
orchard  trees.  But  Chase  had  something  else  to 
think  of  as  they  approached  the  house  where  he  had 
many  a  time  been  welcomed  as  a  friend,  but  which 
he  had  so  lately  looked  upon  with  dread  and  hate. 

He  told  in  a  few  words  of  his  peril  and  of  his 
rescue,  as  the  boat  floated  along  by  the  side  of  the 
orchard,  and  around  into  the  door-yard. 

Worth  meanwhile  assisted  Mr.  Pavode  at  the 
oars.  Lem  bailed  with  his  hat.  Jim  Lathbrook 
stood  in  the  stern  and  pushed  with  the  pole,  chuck- 
ling every  now  and  then,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
boy's  story,  repeating,  with  a  wink  and  a  twitch,  — 

"  Beats  all  creation  !  I  never  see  anything  like  it. 
Damon  and  Pythias  up  a  tree  !  " 

Then  Mr.  Lankton  came  out  in  the  door-yard  to 


236  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

meet  them,  standing  in  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
glowered  with  astonishment  upon  the  guest  Worth 
was  bringing  home.  The  flood  permitted  the  boat 
to  land  almost  at  the  front  door. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Pavode,"  said  Mr. 
Lankton.  w  I  was  just  rigging  up  a  raft.  What's  hap- 
pened to  Mm?"    And  he  glowered  again  at  Chase. 


M  He 's  been  drownded,  and  he 's  got  a  broken 
ankle,"  said  Mr.  Pavode ;  "  an'  if  you  can't  afford 
to  take  him  in  an'  give  him  some  hot  whiskey  an' 
dry  clo'es,  say  so  !  an'  he  goes  as  straight  to  my 
house  as  this  leaky  oV  tub  can  carry  him." 

"  I  helped  him  out  of  the  water,  and  I'm  going  to 
take  care  of  him,"  said  Worth,  stepping  out  of  the 
boat.     "  Lean  on  me,  Chase." 


LOWMY   PAVODE'S   BOAT.  237 

"  I  wouldn't  refuse  shelter  to  our  worst  enemies 

as  he  and  his  father  have  been,"  said  Mr.  Lankton, 
sternly. 

"  I'd  rather  go  home,  if  I  could,"  said  Chase. 
!t  But  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  all.  I  wish,  Lem, 
if  you  can  get  across  the  water,  you  would  hurry 
md  tell  my  folks  that  I'm  safe." 

"  He  shall  do  that,"  said  Lem's  father.  "  And 
t^e'd  carry  you  there,  if  it  wouldn't  take  so  long, 
workin'  agin  the  stream,  an'  if  you  wasn't  so  cold 
an'  wet." 

"You're  so  kind!"  said  Chase,  hobbling  out  of 
the  boat ;  "  all  of  you  ! "  And  he  entered  the  house, 
with  Worth's  help. 

"  Them  's  the  two  boys  I  had  my  eye  on  when  I 
offered  the  prize  to  the  school,"  said  Mr.  Pavode, 
standing  in  the  boat,  which  he  kept  in  place  with  an 
oar.  "Bright  fellers,  both  on  'em ;  an'  great  friends 
they  was  then,  till  the  consarned  pocket-rifle  played 
the  mischief  atween  'em." 

"  I  wish  the  pocket-rifle  had  been  in  Jericho  before 
ever  they  saw  it !  "  said  Mr.  Lankton. 

"  Wal,  it  seems  to  be  in  Jericho  now,  or  some  other 
safe  place,"  remarked  Jim  Lathbrook.  "Mabbe 
Damon  and  Pythias '11  make  up,  now  they  hain't  got 
that  to  quarrel  about." 


238  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

M  But  they  accuse  my  boy  of  stealing  it,"  said  Mr. 
Lankton.     "  There's  no  making  up  after  that." 

"'Tis  ruther  rough  on  your  boy,"  chuckled  Jim, 
with  his  most  expressive  wink  and  twitch.  w  Now 
what,  Pavode?" 

"We'll  set  Lem  acrost  the  flood,  fust  thing," 
Pavode  replied  ;  "  then  we'll  come  back,  Lankton, 
if  there's  any  thing  we  can  do  for  you." 


AFTER    THE    RESCUE.  239 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

AFTER  THE  RESCUE. 

MR.  ATWAY  had,  in  the  mean  time,  reached 
home,  in  anxious  haste,  to  find  that  his  bridge 
was  gone,  and  that  Chase  had  not  arrived. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  he  said  to 
his  wife.  "  I'll  launch  the  boat,  and  row  across  the 
intervale,  and  bring  him  home  —  if  he's  in  the  sugar- 
bush  —  and  Tomkins  with  him." 

The  boat  was  covered  with  boards  beside  the 
barn,  where  it  had  been  hauled  up  for  the  winter. 
Mr.  Atway,  having  found  thole-pins  and  oars,  was 
drao-o-ino-  it  down  to  the  water,  which  had  risen  to 

CO        o 

the  head  of  the  lane,  when  Lem  Pavode  ran  into  the 
yard,  and  told  him  in  a  few  breathless  words  what 
had  happened  to  Chase. 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  father  had  known  nothing 
of  the  catastrophe  until,  with  the  news  of  it,  came 
also  the  news  of  his  son's  rescue  and  safety.  His 
alarm  was  great  enough,  as  it  was. 

"  At  Lankton's  !  my  boy  at  Lankton's !  "  he  ex- 


240  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

claimed.  M  That's  the  last  place  !  —  But  it's  better 
than  the  bottom  of  the  river  —  thank  heaven  !  " 

With  Lem's  help,  he  launched  the  boat,  and 
pulled  away  across  the  field  into  the  swiftest  part 
of  the  current ;  then  rowed  rapidly  down,  passing 
Lankton's  orchard,  and  the  russet-tree,  which  Lem 
pointed  out. 

Rowing  out  of  the  current  again,  below  the 
orchard,  he  landed  at  Lankton's  front  door,  and  tied 
the  boat  to  the  scraper.  But  instead  of'  entering 
there,  he  went  round  to  the  kitchen-door,  with  which 
near  neighbors  were  more  familiar. 

As  he  approached,  in  the  deepening  twilight,  he 
remembered  his  last  visit  —  the  dog  lying  dead  by 
the  door-step,  sprinkled  with  radiance  from  the  old 
tin  lantern,  his  gloomy  reception,  and  the  quarrel 
and  threats  that  followed.  How  little  then  did  he 
dream  that  he  would  be  coming  again  so  soon,  on 
such  an  errand ! 

"  Go  right  in  !  "  cried  Tim,  from  the  open  wood- 
shed, where  he  stood  watching  the  flood.  w  Father's 
in  the  boat  with  Mr.  Pavode,  picking  up  things. 
Come  here,  Lem  !  " 

Mr.  Atway  was  not  sorry  that  his  enemy  .was 
absent.  Getting  no  answer  to  his  knock,  he  lifted 
the  latch  and  entered  the  dim  kitchen.     There  were 


AFTER    THE    RESCUE.  241 

chairs  by  the  stove,  and  wet  clothes  hanging  ovei 
them  to  dry.  A  door  was  ajar,  leading  into  th* 
sitting-room  beyond;  and  that  opened  into  a  bed- 
room, in  which,  as  he  passed  on  towards  it,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  voices. 

He  paused  at  the  bed-room  door,  and,  his  eyes 
growing  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  made  out  two  or 
three  figures. 

Mrs.  Lankton  stood  beside  the  bed,  with  an 
empty  cup  in  her  hand.  Worth  was  arranging  the 
clothes  about  the  pillow.  Closely  wrapped  in  the 
clothes,  with  his  head  on  the  pillow,  was  Chase,  who 
had  evidently  just  risen  to  take  the  contents  of  the 
cup. 

"  O  pa !  "  he  said,  being  the  first  to  perceive  the 
figure  in  the  dim  door- way.     "  Come  here  !  " 

Mrs.  Lankton  stepped  aside,  to  make  room  for 
him  5  and  Mr.  Atway  advanced  quickly  to  the  bed, 
exclaiming,  — 

f ?  My  boy  !  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  right ! "  Chase  answered,  cheerily. 
"  Worth  fished  me  out  of  the  water,  and  now  they've 
got  me  into  warm  blankets,  with  two  or  three  cups 
of  something  hot  inside  of  me,  and  a  liniment  with 
bandages  on  my  ankle,  and  I'm  as  comfortable  as 
can  be  1 " 


242  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  Mrs.  Lankton,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  troubled  and 
awkward,  "  I  never  can  thank  you  and  your  son ! 
I'm  sorry  Chase  has  caused  you  any  trouble  —  I've 
come  with  a  boat  —  are  you  able  go  home  ?  You 
must  have  a  doctor  to  your  foot.    Is  it  much  hurt  ?  " 

Before  Chase  could  answer  these  questions,  Mrs. 
Lankton  spoke  for  him ;  Worth,  meanwhile,  walking 
off  into  the  next  room. 

"  I  don't  think  any  bones  are  broken ;  but  I  beg 
of  you  not  to  think  of  moving  him  now.  He  is 
just  getting  into  a  sweat,  and  a  chill  might  be  very 
dangerous.  If  you  think  the  doctor  is  necessary, 
you  can  bring  him  here." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Lankton  followed  Worth. 

M  I  don't  know  what  to  do  ;  I  don't  know  what  to 
say ! "  Mr.  Atway  murmured,  in  the  most  painful 
anxiety  and  embarrassment. 

"  Don't  say  anything  ;  don't  do  anything,"  replied 
Chase.  "  Any  way,  don't  think  of  moving  me  just 
yet.  They've  saved  my  life,  and  I'm  sure  the  best 
way  to  thank  them  will  be  to  let  them  keep  me  here 
to-night." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,"  said  his  father. 
"  It's  a  terrible  thing  !     How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

In  simple  and  few  words  Chase  related  his  ad- 
ventures. 


AFTER    THE    RESCUE.  243 

Mr.  Atway  was  a  strong  man,  but  he  was  affected 
to  tears  upon  hearing  how  nearly  his  dear  boy  had 
escaped  death,  and  how  he  had  been  saved. 

Mrs.  Lankton  presently  reappeared,  pale  and 
meekly  patient,  bringing  in  a  lighted  lamp,  which 
she  placed  upon  the  table. 

"If  you  say  so,"  said  Mr.  Atway,  "I  will  leave 
him  here  a  while  —  till  he  gets  quite  over  his  chill 
—  and  bring  the  doctor  —  though  I  regret  so  much 
to  trouble  you." 

"  Don't  speak  of  trouble  !  "  she  replied,  tremu- 
lously. "  Neither  Worth  nor  I  would  be  willing  to 
have  him  moved  to-night." 

There  was  a  painful  pause ;  then  she  added,  with 
tears  breaking  into  her  voice,  — 

"I  always  liked  Chase  !  It  seems  now  as  if  one  of 
my  own  boys  had  been  away,  and  come  back  to  me." 

"  I'm  as  sorry  as  anybody  that  there  has  ever  been 
any  difficulty,"  Mr.  Atway  replied.  "  And  I  think, 
now,  if  your  husband  only  thought  and  felt  as  you 
do,  it  might  all  be  settled.  I'll  leave  Chase,  if  you 
say  so." 

"  Tell  ma  not  to  be  worried  about  me,"  Chase 
said,  as  his  father  was  taking  leave.  "  I  shan't  be 
sick  ;  and  I  don't  believe  my  ankle  needs  the  doctor 
■ —  she  has  taken  such  good  care  of  me  !  " 


244  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


FOR  a  while  the  boy  was  left  entirely  alone,  with 
only  the  lamp  and  his  own  excited  thoughts  for 
company.  Then  Mrs.  Lankton  brought  him  some 
gruel.  Then,  while  he  was  sitting  up,  eating  it, 
Worth  came  in  and  sat  by  his  bed. 

They  talked  about  the  flood ;  then,  after  an  em- 
barrassing silence,  Chase  said,  — 

"  It's  you  and  I,  Worth,  who  have  got  our  fathers 
into  a  scrape,  and  I  wish  you  and  I  might  settle  it." 

"So  we  might,"  Worth  replied,  with  a  shade  of 
the  old  resentment  crossing  his  features,  "tf  your 
father  hadn't  had  me  prosecuted." 

Chase  was  trying  to  frame  a  friendly  answer, 
excusing  his  father  without  offending  Worth,  when 
Worth  broke  out,  — 

"Do  you  really  imagine  I  stole  your  pocket- 
rifle?" 

w  Why,  of  course,"  faltered  Chase.  w  I  had  —  no 
doubt  but  that  you  —  took  it.     Didn't  you  ?  " 


DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS.  245 

w  No,  sir  ! "  Worth  declared  with  strong  feeling.  "  1 
never  saw  it  after  you  went  into  the  sugar-bush  with 
it  that  day.  And  I  never  touched  it.  Do  you  think 
I  stood  up  there  in  the  court  and  perjured  myself?" 

"  I  never  believed  you  would  do  that,"  said  Chase. 
w  But  why  wouldn't  you  explain,  when  Squire  Hol- 
gate  asked  you  what  you  followed  me  for  ?  " 

M  Because  I  was  after  the  pocket-rifle  then  ;  I  was 
mad,  and  meant  to  get  it  and  destroy  it,"  Worth 
declared. 

w  That's  just  what  I  supposed  you  wanted  to  do, 
and  what  I  supposed  you  did,"  said  Chase. 

"You  were  partly  mistaken  —  just  as  you  have 
been  about  other  things,"  Worth  replied.  M  My 
motive  was  bad  enough ;  I  could  have  broken  the 
thing  over  your  head  !  " 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

"  I  didn't  know  where  to  find  it.  I  had  no  idea 
it  was  hung  up  there  in  the  shanty.  I  thought  you 
had  it  in  your  pocket ;  and  of  course  I  couldn't  get 
it  from  you  while  Tomkins  was  about.  So  I  finally 
gave  it  up  and  came  home." 

w  Why  didn't  you  say  that  to  the  judge  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  I  had  confessed  what  I  meant  to  do, 
it  would  have  been  evidence  against  myself.  Who 
would  have  believed  me  after  that  ?  " 


246  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

"  I  would  !  I  believe  you  now  !  "  exclaimed  Chase, 
over  his  bowl  of  gruel.  "  We  have  quarrelled  ;  we 
have  both  acted  like  fools  !  But  I  know  you  of  old, 
Worth  Lankton  !  and  when  you  talk  out  as  you  do 
now,  I  know  you  are  telling  the  truth." 

Worth  was  touched  by  this  generous  tribute. 

K  Then  maybe  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
something  else." 

"What?"  cried  Chase. 

w  The  thing  that  first  turned  you  against  me,"  said 
Worth.  "  For  I  believe  you  were  really  my  friend 
up  to  that  time." 

"What  time?" 

w  That  Saturday  night,  when,  as  you  accused  me 
afterwards,  I  got  into  the  school-house  for  my 
speller."    Worth  hesitated,  and  Chase  exclaimed  : 

"  That  hurt  me  terribly,  Worth  !  Nothing  that 
ever  happened,  before  or  since,  ever  hurt  me  so 
much.  To  think  that  you  —  after  I  had  proposed 
to  go  with  you  and  you  had  refused  to  do  what  you 
called  so  mean  a  thing  —  that  you  should  then  go 
alone,  and  act  as  you  did  about  it,  you  can't  wonder 
that  I  felt  so." 

n  No  !  But  I  didn't  know  that  you  knew,  and  I 
thought  you  were  turning  against  me  without  anv 
good  cause.     Now  let  me  tell  you  !  * 


DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS, 


247 


"  Do !  n  Chase  implored.     "  I  can  forgive   any- 
thing now;   but  I  want  to  know  the  truth." 
He  had  quite  forgotten  to  eat  his  gruel.     He  held 


the  bowl  in  his  lap,  sitting  up  there  in  bed,  in  the 
dim  lamplight,  and  listened  with  absorbed  interest 
to  Worth's  explanation. 


248  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

K  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Worth.  "  After  1 
refused  to  go  with  you,  I  thought  better  of  it ;  and 
went  up  by  your  house,  hoping  you  would  come  out 
and  suggest  the  thing  again.  But  I  was  ashamed 
to  propose  it  to  you,  after  what  I  had  said.  As  I 
didn't  see  you,  I  kept  on  towards  the  school-house ; 
then  it  finally  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  climb  in 
and  get  both  spellers,  and  give  you  yours  as  I  went 
along  back." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?  "  said  Chase,  anxiously.  "  That 
would  have  saved  all  this  !  " 

"  Perhaps  ;  and  perhaps  not,"  said  Worth.  "  Any 
way,  I  couldn't  find  your  speller,  and  had  to  come 
away  without  it.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  I  thought : 
I  thought  you  had  been  there  before  me  and  taken 
it  away.  I  couldn't  blame  you  if  you  had,  for  you 
had  proposed  the  thing  to  me  frankly,  and  you  had 
aright  to  go  alone  if  I  wouldn't  go  with  you." 

"  But  why  —  why  didn't  you  tell  me  afterwards  — 
that  Monday  morning?  "  Chase  implored. 

"I  meant  to.  But  I  wanted  to  see  if  you  had 
your  book.  And  when  I  found  you  didn't  have  it, 
I  was  really  ashamed  to  tell  you  what  I  had  done. 
I  didn't  know  how  to  explain  it.  We  found  your 
book  on  the  floor,  you  remember." 

w  Yes,"  exclaimed  Chase  ;  "  and  I  remember  more 


DAMON    AND   PYTHIAS.  249 

than  you  ever  suspected !  But  why  didn't  you 
explain  all  this  when  we  finally  quarrelled,  and  I 
accused  you,  as  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  was  so  astonished  when  I  found  that  you  knew 
my  secret,  and  what  you  said  made  me  so  mad, 
that  I  couldn't  say  a  word  till  you  had  got.  out  of 
the  way.     How  did  you  ever  find  it  out,  Chase?  " 

w  I  was  in  the  school-house,  hidden  behind  the 
desks,  when  you  got  in,"  Chase  confessed.  "  I  had 
already  taken  my  spelling-book,  and  that's  the  reason 
you  couldn't  find  it." 

"  But  why  did  you  hide  ?  "  said  Worth,  astonished. 

"  Because  I  thought  you  had  meant  to  deceive 
me ;  and  I  waited  to  see  if  you  would  really  take 
away  your  speller,  after  what  you  had  said.  When 
I  found  that  you  had  taken  it,"  Chase  continued,  "  I 
just  flung  mine  at  the  corner  there,  where  we  found 
it  the  next  Monday,  and  went  home,  thinking  I 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  prize  business." 

"  Then  you  really  determined  not  to  compete  ?  " 
Worth  eagerly  inquired. 

"Keally  !  "  answered  Chase.  "  I  was  so  hurt  and 
so  unhappy  that  I  never  wanted  to  see  a  spelling- 
book  again." 

"Why  did  you  change  about  so,  then?  "  Worth 
exclaimed. 


250  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

M I  was  provoked  at  what  I  saw  in  you  that 
Monday,  —  or  thought  I  saw,"  Chase  confessed. 
K  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  do  all  I  could  to  keep 
you  from  getting  the  prize,  and  to  help  Lem  get  it. 
I  never  thought  of  winning  it  for  myself  until  aftei 
Lem  failed." 

"  I  wish  we  had  understood  each  other !  "  said 
Worth. 

"  It  would  have  saved  all  this  trouble  between  us," 
said  Chase. 

"It  might;  but,  as  I  said  before,  it  might  not," 
replied  Worth,  humbly.  "There's  something  in 
me,  —  I  know  it  better  than  anybody,  and  I  would 
give  anything  to  get  it  out  of  me !  A  dreadful 
disposition !  I  can  never  bear  to  be  beaten  in 
anything." 

"  I  have  often  regretted  to  see  that  feeling  in  you, 
Worth." 

"It  is  a  mean,  miserable,  selfish  feeling,  exclaimed 
Worth,  bitterly.  "I  wonder  that  you  bore  with  it 
as  long  as  you  did." 

"  That  was  because  I  saw  what  you  were,  in  spite 
of  it,"  said  Chase,  with  his  old  fervor  of  friendship. 

"  Now  that  I  know  why  you  turned  against  me, 
I  can't  blame  you  for  anything,"  Worth  admitted, 
after  a  pause,     "  I  don't  blame  you  for  shooting  the 


DAMON   AND   PYTHIAS.  251 

Jog.  No,  nor  for  thinking  I  took  the  pocket-rifle. 
Though  I  half  believed  at  one  time  it  wasn't  stolen 
at  all." 

M  How  so  ?  *  Chase  asked. 

"  I  thought  it  was  all  a  put  up  job  on  the  part  of 
your  folks, "  Worth  replied,  "  to  pay  us  off  for  the 
law-suit." 

"O  Worth,  how  could  you  think  that?"  said 
Chase.  "  What  things  we  have  been  ready  to 
believe  of  each  other  !  "  After  a  pause,  he  added : 
"  But  it  was  because  your  father  had  sued  him  that 
pa  made  the  complaint,  and  had  you  taken  up. 
How  I  wish  he  hadn't !  It's  all  a  miserable  muss, 
any  way." 

Worth  sat  gloomily  brooding  over  his  trouble, 
when  Chase  broke  out  again,  — 

"  It's  a  perfect  mystery  what  did  become  of  that 
pocket-rifle  !     I'd  give  anything  to  know  !  " 

"  So  would  I !  "  said  Worth. 

Mr.  Atway  now  came  in  with  the  doctor. 

The  bruised  leg  was  examined  and  dressed  anew ; 
and  Chase  was  then  left  for  the  night.  But  in  the 
morning,  his  father  came  again  to  take  him  away. 

The  boy  was  weak,  but  free  from  fever ;  and  with 
no  other  bad  effect  of  his  accident  than  what  re- 
mained in  his  swollen  and  painful  limb. 


252  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 

Mr.  Atway  carried  him  in  his  arms  to  the  boat, 
and  with  Worth's  help  placed  him,  warmly  wrapped, 
on  cushions  prepared  for  him.  Then  came  the  final 
leave-taking. 

Worth  was  once  more  the  Worth  of  other  days. 
And  Mrs.  Lankton  was  kind  to  the  last.  But  her 
husband  had  few  and  very  curt  words  in  response 
to  Mr.  Atway's  grateful  acknowledgments  of  what 
had  been  done  for  Chase ;  and  he  saw  the  boat 
depart  with  a  stern,  relentless  frown. 

The  day  was  fine.  The  morning  light  shone 
brightly  across  the  water,  which  still  flooded  the 
fields  and  the  lower  half  of  Mr.  Lankton's  orchard, 
and  rippled  like  a  lake  in  the  freshly  blowing 
breeze. 

A  pair  of  bluebirds  were  singing  in  the  topmost 
boughs  of  the  old  russet-tree,  as  the  boat  passed 
under  it.  Where  could  they  have  come  from  so 
suddenly  after  the  storm? 

Chase,  telling  again  his  story,  asked  anxiously  if 
the  prosecution  against  Worth  could  not  be  stopped. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  his  father,  gravely.  "If 
you  really  think  he  didn't  take  the  rifle  —  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  of  it !  "  Chase  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  ;  I'll  consult  Squire 
Holgate  this  very  forenoon." 


DAMON    AND   PYTHIAS.  253 

They  crossed  the  river  near  the  site  of  the  old 
bridge,  the  absence  of  which  gave  them  much  to 
talk  and  think  about.  Then,  landing  in  the  lane, 
Mr.  Atway  once  more  lifted  Chase  in  his  arms  and 
bore  him  to  the  house. 

"  O  my  bo}' !  "  said  his  mother,  embracing  him, 
and  weeping  over  him.  "  It  has  been  all  I  could  do 
to  keep  from  going  to  you  !  " 

Leaving  him  in  her  loving  hands,  Mr.  Atway  set 
off  early  to  see  and  consult  Squire  Holgate.  When 
he  came  home  again,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or 
two,  he  was  looking  very  serious. 

"How  is  it?"  Chase  asked,  from  the  lounge,  where 
he  sat  nursing  his  leg. 

"I  couldn't  get  much  satisfaction  out  of  the 
squire,"  replied  his  father.  "  Of  course  he  had  to 
remind  me  how  hard  he  tried  to  have  the  matter 
settled.  But  now  it  has  gone  beyond  his  control, 
and  it's  not  very  agreeable  news  we  get  from  it." 

"  Not  more  trouble,  I  hope,"  said  Chase. 

"Nothing  but  what  we've  been  expecting,"  replied 
his  father.  "  But  it's  bad,  as  the  thing  has  turned. 
The  grand  jury  has  found  a  bill  of  indictment  against 
Worth  for  stealing  the  pocket-rifle." 


254  THE  POCKET-RITLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LAUNCHING   THE    BOULDER. 

THE  flood  subsided  rapidly.  By  noon  the  valley, 
which  had  been  white  when  last  seen,  reap- 
peared, swept  of  the  last  vestige  of  snow,  and  also 
of  fences  here  and  there,  which  had  not,  like  those 
of  the  most  careful  farmers,  been  built  to  stay. 

Even  at  high-water,  the  stakes  and  riders  of  Mr. 
Atway's  fences  could  be  seen  bristling  above  the 
flood  and  marking  the  boundaries  of  his  submerged 
fields.  And  there  they  remained  after  it  went 
down.  But  of  Mr.  Lankton's  part  of  the  fence, 
which  had  given  both  families  so  much  trouble, 
scarcely  a  length  was  left. 

"  I  can't  say  I'm  very  sorry,"  Mr.  Atway  re- 
marked, looking  out  on  the  valley  from  the  window 
by  Chase's  lounge.  "  Now  something  will  have  to 
be  done.  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  boy  !  This  is 
the  second  time  I've  lost  a  bridge  there ;  the  next 
one  we'll  build  to  stand." 

"I  was  surprised  that  Mr.  Lankton's  didn't  go 
too,"  said  Chase. 


LAUNCHING    THE    BOULDER.  255 

f  His  is  higher  than  ours  was,"  replied  his  father ; 
H  and  the  flood,  spreading  out,  had  spent  much  of  its 
force  before  it  got  there.  I'm  glad  Lankton  had 
one  piece  of  luck." 

Parents  and  son  firmly  believed  that  his  preser- 
vation was  due  to  Worth ;  and  they  were  grateful 
accordingly.  Chase  begged  his  father  to  make  peace 
with  Mr.  Lankton. 

"  I  suppose  there's  only  one  way,"  Mr.  Atway 
replied.  "But  I  don't  mind  —  I'll  pay  for  their 
pesky  pup,  and  settle  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would  !  "  said  Chase.  "  They'll  need 
the  money  towards  rebuilding  their  fences." 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  rejoined  his  father.  "  I'll 
hint  it  to  Lankton." 

As  soon  as  Chase  was  able  to  ride  out  comforta- 
bly, his  father,  one  afternoon,  took  him  over  to  Mr. 
Lankton's  to  make  a  neighborly  call,  and  once  more 
acknowledge  thankfully  Worth's  generous  conduct 
and  his  mother's  kindness. 

Then  Mr.  Atway  made  a  proffer  of  services,  in 
repairing  damages  done  by  the  flood,  and  re- 
marked, — 

"  You've  had  bad  luck  with  fences,  Lankton  ;  and 
I  don't  mind  helping  you  replace  the  one  between 
our  fields  —  to  the  extent  of  twenty-five  dollars,  any 


256  THE    FOCKET-KIFLE. 

way,  the  value  you  put  on  your  dog.  "  Yes,"  he 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  and  I'll  pav 
costs,  too,  if  that  will  be  satisfactory." 

"  It  will  be  satisfactory  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said 
Lankton. 

He  continued  sullen,  in  spite  of  neighborly  ad 
vances  ;  and  would  not  be  conciliated  as  long  as  th* 
indictment  hung  over  his  son. 

"  You  don't  believe  he  took  that  pocket-rifle  any 
more  than  I  do  !  "  he  said,  with  rising  wrath. 

"  I  own,  I  now  think  as  you  do,"  replied  Mr. 
Atway ;  "  and  I'll  do  what  I  can  to  have  the  indict- 
ment quashed.  But  when  Squire  Holgate  asked  me 
if  any  new  facts  had  been  developed  since  my  sworn 
statement,  I  was  obliged  to  answer  no.  He  said  a 
mere  change  of  opinion  on  my  part,  since  your  folks 
had  done  us  a  favor,  wouldn't  have  much  influence 
with  the  district  attorney.  There's  where  it  stands. 
I  wish  the  plaguy  thing  could  be  found ! " 

"When  my  ankle  gets  well,  I'm  going  to  have 
another  good  hunt  for  it,"  said  Chase. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Worth. 

"Oh  !  will  you?  "  cried  Chase,  gladly. 

The  thing  was  thus  agreed  upon.  The  lame  leg 
mended  rapidly,  and  it  was  not  many  days  before 
the  two  boys  set  off  on  their  expedition. 


LAUNCHING  THE  BOULDER.         257 

It  was  a  mild!  and  pleasant  forenoon.  Robins  and 
finches  sang  to  them  on  fence  and  tree  as  they 
passed.  On  the  edge  of  the  woods  they  stopped  to 
look  back  upon  the  intervale,  already  beginning  to 
appear  green  in  the  warm  spring  sun. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream  to  them,  that  all  that 
bright  valley  had  been  deluged  by  rain  and  thaw 
only  a  little  while  before. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream  no  less,  that  they  two  had 
ever  quarrelled.  Their  old  friendship,  so  lately 
lost,  was  now  restored,  all  the  richer,  perhaps, 
for  the  flood  of  passion  beneath  which  it  had  been 
hidden  but  not  destroyed. 

They  came  together  now  as  never  before.  They 
understood  each  other  better ;  each  knew  the  other's 
weaknesses,  and  made  allowance  for  them.  Chase, 
especially,  had  taken  to  heart  this  lesson  —  that  in 
the  life  we  live  there  is  no  faultless  hero  or  friend ; 
and  that  if  we  wait  for  perfection,  we  shall  never 
love. 

They  entered  the  spacious  woods.  Quails  and 
squirrels  started  up  before  them,  rustling  the  dead 
leaves ;  crows  cawed  musically  afar  off  in  the  tall 
tops.  The  wild  fragrance  of  woods  in  early  spring 
filled  the  air.  The  forest  was  like  a  mighty  harp  to 
the  sweeping  wind. 


258  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

In  the  glow  of  health  and  sympathy,  the  boys 
were  happy.  Full  of  hope,  and  eager  in  their  quest, 
they  talked  and  laughed  gayly,  and  ran  up  to  the  old 
sugar-camp  with  glad  shouts. 

This  had  been  deserted  since  the  last  interruption 
of  the  sugar-making ;  and  the  shanty  was  filled  with 
sap-buckets,  which  they  tumbled  out  in  their  hurried 
but  thorough  search.  Outside  and  in,  even  under  the 
floor  of  rough  boards,  they  looked,  but  in  vain. 

M  There's  certainly  no  pocket-rifle  here,"  Worth  at 
length  admitted;  and  reluctantly  the  sap-buckets 
Were  replaced. 

They  then  wandered  through  the  woods,  until, 
coming  to  an  opening,  they  looked  up  the  mountain- 
side and  saw  the  great  boulder  hanging:  on  its  crag. 

Chase  had  taken  a  hatchet  which  had  been  left  at 
the  shanty,  in  order  to  carry  it  home.  An  idea  now 
occurred  to  him. 

"Let  us  go  up  there,  Worth,  cut  some  stout 
levers,  and  have  the  fun  with  the  big  rock  we  talked 
about  last  fall." 

w  Agreed,"  said  Worth. 

They  passed  along  the  upper  side  of  the  dense 
thicket  in  their  ascent,  and  cut  some  strong  hickory 
saplings  for  their  purpose  ;  shoving  them  up  over  the 
edge  of  the   cliff,  and  then  clambering  after  them. 


LAUNCHING  THE  BOULDER.         259 

Once  more  the  valley  lay  spread  out  before  them, 
like  a  map,  with  its  checkered  farms  and  long,  wind- 
ing river.  They  sat  down  to  rest  a  few  minutes 
and  enjoy  the  prospect. 

"  A  good  deal  has  happened  since  we  had  that  talk 
with  Jim  Lathbrook  up  here,"  said  Chase.  "  How 
often  I  have  thought  of  it,  and  how  ashamed  it  has 
made  me  !  To  think  that  what  a  worthless  fellow 
like  him  said  to  us  about  friendship  should  ever  have 
come  true  —  with  you  and  me,  Worth  !  " 

"It  was  humiliating,"  replied  Worth.  "But, 
after  all,  what  people  said  was  nothing  to  what  I 
suffered  from  the  quarrel.  How  I  missed  you, 
Chase  !  " 

"Did  you?"  said  Chase.  "Well,  it  is  all  over 
now ;  and  I  should  be  perfectly  happy  if  we  could 
find  that  pocket-rifle.  Not  that  I  care  for  it.  But 
on  your  account,  Worth." 

"  I  believe  it  has  gone  the  way  of  a  good  many 
things  that  have  disappeared  mysteriously  from  our 
town  the  past  year  or  two,"  said  Worth.  "But  the 
trouble  will  be  to  prove  it ;  or  to  prove  that  /  didn't 
steal  it." 

"Don't  let's  worry;  I'm  sure  you  will  come  out 
all  right,"  said  Chase. 

"  The  wind  is  always  cold  up   here !  "  suddenly 


260  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

exclaimed  Worth,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  Now  let's 
see  what  we  can  do." 

They  rolled  some  big  stones  to  the  spot,  to  serve 
as  fulcrums  and  props;  all  the  while  keeping  up 
their  friendly  chat. 

"  I  wish  you  knew  what  a  picture  you  were,  Chase, 
when  you  sat  here  by  the  rock  that  day  and  talked 
to  Lathbrook,  and  told  him  the  story  of  Damon  and 
Pythias.  You  were  fine  !  How  often,  when  I  was 
mad  with  you,  I  remembered  how  you  looked  then, 
and  how  proud  and  happy  you  made  me  !  " 

"  I  saw  it  in  your  eye  at  the  time,"  said  Chase. 
,f  I  wasn't  talking  to  Lathbrook  ;  I  was  really  talking 
to  you.     Now  slip  your  handspike  under  !  " 

"  I  believe  I  move  it !  "  cried  Worth,  swinging 
down  on  his  lever. 

M  Of  course  you  do !  Now  hold  it  till  I  get  a 
bite.     There  !  Clap  a  stone  under." 

*  Every  time  I  have  looked  up  from  the  valley 
and  seen  this  rock,"  said  Worth,  "  I've  thought  of 
Lathbrook  and  his  triumph  over  us ;  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  get  it  out  of  the  way." 

"  I  wish  he  was  here  to  see  us  work  together 
sending  it  down,"  said  Chase. 

w  It  moves  easily  now  ;  we've  got  it  almost  on  its 
centre  of  gravity.     Won't  it  make  a  rumpus  in  the 


LAUNCHING  THE  BOULDER. 


261 


thickets  down  there!"  And  he  paused  to  give  a 
glance  over  the  brow  of  the  cliff. 

"She's  all  ready!"  said  Worth.  "I  believe 
another  bite  will  send  her  over." 

"  Wait  till  I  shove  another  stone  under.  Now  rest 
on  it,"  said  Chase,  "  while  we  get  everything  ready. 


I  believe  if  'twasn't  for  the  forest  trees,  it  would  roll 
half-way  to  the  river." 

"Say  the  word,"  cried  Worth,  getting  another 
hold  with  his  lever. 

"Now  !  "  said  Chase. 

Down  went  the  long  end  of  the  lever  a  foot  or 
two.  Up  went  the  short  end  an  inch.  But  that 
inch  was  enough. 

The  enormous  rock  poised  an  instant  on  its  bal- 


262  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

lancing  point,  then  slowly,  sleepily  at  first,  began  to 
settle  over  the  other  way. 

w  She's  going  !  "  cried  Chase,  in  high  excitement. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
the  mighty  boulder  ;  having  rested  for  unknown  cen- 
turies on  that  world-surveying  crest  of  the  mountain, 
it  seemed  reluctant  to  make  up  its  mind  to  move. 

But  suddenly  the  mossy  cushion  and  accumulated 
soil  under  its  lower  edge  gave  way ;  the  granite  foot 
crushed  to  the  ledge ;  and  the  tremendous  body  of 
stone,  revolving,  gave  a  sluggish,  clumsy,  wallowing 
plunge  over  the  cliff. 

A  plunge,  a  leap,  a  crashing  bound  into  the  thicket, 
like  some  huge  creature  dashing  at  its  prey ;  swift 
and  swifter,  the  stout  saplings  breaking  before  it 
like  straw ;  rushing  and  tearing  down  a  broad 
straight  furrow  to  the  woods,  with  tremendous  tur- 
moil of  flying  earth  and  boughs  ! 

Even  the  larger  trees  did  not  stop  it.  Stems  a 
foot  thick  split  and  splintered  before  it,  and  lofty 
tops  went  crackling  and  crashing  down. 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  sudden  terror  at 
what  they  had  done.  What  if  the  stupendous 
missile  should  cut  its  way  clear  through  the  forest, 
and  land  like  an  aerolite  from  heaven  in  the  meadow 
below. 


LAUNCHING  THE  BOULDER.         263 

But  even  while  their  nerves  were  thrilling  with 
this  conjecture,  huge  trunks  and  projecting  ledges 
brought  the  monster  to  terms  in  a  hollow  of  the 
mountain-side.  And  suddenly  all  was  still.  Only 
a  woman  screamed. 


264  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE   RUINED   HUT. 

SUCH  a  wild,  shrill  shriek  it  was  !  It  came  from 
the  woods  below,  through  which  the  stone  had 
mown  its  frightful  swath. 

No  sooner  were  the  boys  relieved  from  their  first 
apprehension  than  a  fresh  fear  filled  them. 

"  There's  somebody  hurt !  "  said  Chase. 

"  What  have  we  done?  "  exclaimed  Worth. 

Then  one  impulse  seized  them  both,  to  follow  the 
boulder  and  find  what  fatal  mischief  it  had  wrought. 

Down  the  face  of  the  cliff  they  went,  in  the  path 
already  made  for  them,  holding  on  by  saplings, 
dropping  from  ledge  to  ledge,  and  picking  their 
way  over  rocks  and  splintered  stems ;  a  terrible 
descent ! 

The  cries  had  ceased  ;  but  the  track  of  the  boulder 
guided  them  to  the  spot  whence  they  had  arisen ; 
and  there  an  amazing  sight  met  their  eyes. 

In  the  midst  of  the  dense  thickets  was  a  bare, 
rugged,  rocky  shelf,  about  which  grew  a,  few  trunks 


THE   RUINED  HUT.  265 

of  considerable  size.  The  boulder  had  swept  down 
two  or  three  of  these ;  and  one  of  them  in  falling, 
with  its  outspread  limbs,  had  crushed  a  cabin  almost 
as  your  fingers  would  with  a  blow  crush  an  egg- 
shell. 

The  ruin  lay  a  mere  flattened  mass  of  broken 
boards,  held  down  by  the  shattered  branches,  which 
the  woman  was  wildly  endeavoring  to  tear  away. 

"What's  the  matter?  Who's  hurt?"  cried  both 
boys,  as  with  one  breath,  springing  to  the  lichen- 
covered  ledge. 

"  My  husband  !  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  he  is  killed  !  " 
said  the  woman,  falling  back  from  her  vain  efforts, 
and  despairingly  throwing  up  her  hands. 

"Jim  Lathbrook!"  exclaimed  Chase  — for  the 
woman  was  Sal.  "What  is  this?  how  came  you 
here?" 

"  Help  me  git  him  out  !  "  said  the  terrified  wife. 
"  It's  a  judgment  from  heaven  !   O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  " 

"  We  can  do  nothing  without  the  hatchet,"  said 
Worth.  They  had  left  that,  in  their  haste,  on  the 
top  of  the  cliff.  "  I'll  go  for  it."  And  he  recom- 
menced the  toilsome  ascent. 

Crushed  as  the  hut  was,  the  boards  of  the  roof, 
composed  of  two  or  three  thicknesses,  were  so  held 
together    by  nails,   and   so   pressed   down   by   the 


266  THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 

weight  of  the  tree,  that  Chase,  even  with  Worth's 
help,  had  been  unable  to  move  them ;  so  now,  while 
waiting,  he  turned  to  question  the  woman. 

"  He  was  asleep,"  she  said.  "  But  I  heard  the 
noise  jest  in  time,  and  run  out." 

"  I  thought  you  lived  up  over  the  mountain,"  said 
Chase. 

K  We  do,  but  in  an  evil  hour  we  built  this  cabin 
here.  It's  a  judgment  upon  us  for  our  sins !  O 
Lord  !  "  and  the  wretched  Sal  wrung  her  hands. 

"  How  could  you  build  it  here  ?  Where  did  you 
get  the  material  ?  " 

"We  brought  the  boards  from  your  old  sugar- 
nouse." 

"  But  that  was  burnt !  " 

w  It  was  burnt  after  we  had  took  what  we  wanted 
from  it.  Then  Jim  set  the  rest  afire  to  hide  what 
we  had  done.  Jim  and  me  brought  the  stuff  up 
through  the  woods  to  build  this  hiding-place  to  keep 
our  things  in.     O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  " 

Chase  was  beginning  to  recover  from  his  fright 
and  bewilderment  enough  to  understand. 

"Oh  yes,  your  things  /"he  said,  keenly  eyeing 
the  poor  woman.     "  I  see  !  " 

"  If  it  was  anything  to  eat,  we  could  keep  it  here 
till  we  wanted  it,"  she  went  on,  as  if  the  only  relief 


THE    RUINED   HUT.  267 

^  her  terror  was  in  swift  confession.  *  If  it  was 
something  to  raise  money  on,  we  would  hide  it  till 
the  excitement  blowed  over,  and  we  could  take  it 
away.  But  the  Lord  has  found  us  out !  O  Lord  1 
0  Lord  !  " 

K I  hope  Jim  isn't  dead  ! "  said  Chase. 

"I  know  he  is  !  "  replied  Sal.  "He'd  be  makin' 
some  sort  of  a  noise  if  he  wasn't.  I  allers  told  him 
'twould  end  somehow  so.  But  both  on  us  hated 
work.  All  we  ever  done  any  work  for  was  jest  to 
git  into  houses  and  see  what  there  was  to  take." 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  could  carry  on  your  trade  so 
long  without  being  suspected?"  said  Chase. 

"  That's  'cause  we  was  careful  not  to  keep  anything 
to  home ;  though  we  have  been  'spected,  and  our 
house  has  been  watched.  But  we  was  too  sly  for 
anybody  !  It  took  the  Lord  Himself  to  ketch  us  ! 
And  He  has  ketched  us  !     O  Lord  ! 

Worth  coming  with  the  hatchet,  both  boys  set  to 
work  to  cut  and  tear  away  the  branches  that  held 
the  ruin  down,  then  to  separate  and  remove  the 
boards. 

The  woman  watched  them  gratefully,  helping  a 
little  now  and  then,  but  oftener  standing  by  wring- 
ing her  hands,  and  uttering  her  one  ejaculation  of 
epentance  and  superstitious  fear. 


268 


THE    POCKET-KIFLE. 


Jim's  leg  !  "  shrieked  Sal. 


At  length  a  boot  came  to  light  through  an  opening 
the  boys  made  in  the  wreck.    M  That's  him  !    That 's 

"Is  he  dead?" 

A  good  leg  was  in  fact 
found  in  the  boot.     At- 
tached to  the  leg  was  a 
body  in  tolerably  good 
condition,       considering 
the  circumstances.    And 
out  of  the  body,  when  it 
was  fairly  re- 
lieved of  its 
load,    issued 
Na  a  good  lusty 
*^0  groan. 

"Jim!  O 
Jim !  be  ye 
alive  ?  "  said 

Sal,  stooping  to  him  under  the  overhanging  trees. 
*  Say  you're  alive  !  " 

"  Guess  so  !     Blessed  if  I  know  much  about  it !  " 
said  Jim. 

The  last  of  the  rubbish  being  removed,  he  sat 
up,  with  Sal's  assistance,  looked  at  her,  then  at  the 
boys,  and  put  this  comprehensive  question : 
"What's  all  the  row?" 


THE    KUINED   HUT.  269 

The  boys,  who  had  greatly  feared  to  find  him 
dead  or  fatally  injured,  shared  her  joy  at  seeing 
him  come  out  of  his  swoon  with  no  worse  damage, 
apparently,  than  a  broken  shoulder  and  a  bruised 
head. 

Blood  was  streaming  down  one  side  of  his  face ; 
and  it  was  interesting  to  see  that  the  other  side  was 
still  able  to  give  its  vivacious  wink  and  twitch. 

"  I  didn't  quite  know  ye  at  fust.  But  I  guess  I 
know  ye  now  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to,  Jim,"  said  Chase.  "  It's 
Damon  and  Pythias  !  " 

w  Damon  and  Pythias  !  "  he  repeated,  with  another 
twitch,  accompanied  by  a  ghastly  grin.  "  What  in 
thunder  do  you  want  here  ?  What's  been  and  gone 
and  done  this  ?  " 

"  The  boulder  has  been  tumbling  down  on  you  a 
little,"  said  Chase.     "  That's  all !  " 

"  I  should  think  it  was  enough !  "  groaned  Jim, 
and  swooned  again. 

They  drew  him  out  of  the  ruin,  and  laid  him  on 
the  ledge,  with  his  head  and  injured  shoulder  in  the 
lap  of  the  faithful  Sal. 

When  he  once  more  came  to  himself,  he  saw  the 
boys  uncovering  from  the  wreck  an  astonishing 
miscellany  of  articles  plundered  from  the  town. 


270 


THE    POCKET-RIFLE. 


An  axe,  which  Chase  recognized  as  his  father's. 
A  firkin-cover,  hearing  the  name  of  "L.  Pavode" 
the    firkin    itself,    half-full    of    butter   (afterwards 


proved  to  be  of  Mrs.  Pavode's  making)  in  pretty 
good  condition. 

A  cheese,  badly  smashed. 

An  auger,  to  which  Worth  confidently  laid  claim. 
It  had  been  missing  from  his   father's  barn  for  a 


THE   RUINED   HUT.  271 

year.  Together  with  a  great  variety  of  objects, 
useful  and  otherwise ;  among  which  was  one  which 
made  Chase  scream  for  joy. 

It  was  the  pocket-rifle  ! 

M  It's  broken,"  he  said,  pulling  it  out  from  the 
heap,  and  holding  it  up.  w  But  no  matter.  The 
mystery  is  solved.     Hurrah  !  " 


272  THE   POCKET-RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVLL 

HOW   IT   ALL   ENDED. 

"  T^OU  'VE  ruther  got  ahead  of  me  here,  boys  ! " 

-L  said  Jim,  with  a  rueful  twitch  of  his  eye  and 
cheek.  "  Take  everything !  but  give  me  time  to 
mend  my  broken  bones,  and  git  away,  and  your 
town  will  never  see  hide  or  hair  of  me  agin." 

"  We'll  see  about  that !  "  cried  Chase. 

And  leaving  Worth  to  keep  guard  over  the  plun- 
der and  the  plunderers,  he  followed  the  boulder's 
furrow  down  into  the  woods,  and  hurried  thence 
across  the  valley. 

Mr.  Lankton,  Mr.  Atway,  Mr.  Pavode,  and  two 
or  three  other  neighbors,  with  Lem  and  Tim,  and  a 
lively  following  of  boys,  accompanied  him  to  the 
scene  of  the  catastrophe. 

Jim  was  sitting  up,  but  still  unable  to  walk ;  so 
that  he  enjoyed  a  ride  on  a  litter  constructed  of 
poles  and  boughs,  and  carried  by  the  men  on  their 
return. 

His  hut  had  been  demolished  and  his  private  store 


HOW    IT    ALL    ENDED.  27  3 

was  taken  away,  to  be  restored  to  numerous  claim- 
ants. But  he  now  had  a  surgeon  for  his  wounds  at 
the  public  expense,  and  food  and  lodging  in  the 
county  jail. 

The  excitement  of  the  adventure,  together  with 
the  discovery  of  several  articles  belonging  to  him 
beside  the  auger,  —  and  especially  the  finding  of 
the  pocket-rifle, — put  Mr.  Lankton  into  unusually 
good  spirits,  and  led  to  a  complete  reconciliation 
between  him  and  his  neighbor. 

Both  the  lawsuit  and  the  case  against  Worth  were 
dropped.  The  farmers  and  their  boys  "  changed 
works  "  while  rebuilding  Atway's  bridge,  and  placing 
a  good  strong  post-and-wire  fence  between  the  two 
farms. 

The  pocket-rifle  was  never  mended,  but  hung  up 
by  Chase  as  a  memento.  And  the  two  friends  were 
happy. 

Sal  was  let  go  ;  but  Jim,  after  his  recovery,  was 
put  on  trial  for  larceny,  and  convicted.  His  left 
eye  and  cheek  twitched  prodigiously  when  he  saw 
that  the  principal  witnesses  against  him  were  Damon 
and  Pythias.  He  did  not  laugh  at  them  any  more 
now. 

The  boulder  still  lies  in  its  new  bed  among  the 
woods  and  ledges  where  it  fell.      I  have   passed 


274  THE   POCKET-RIFLE* 

around  it  and  retraced  its  wonderful  course  up  tm 
mountain-side  more  than  once  in  my  summer  tramps 
among  those  hills. 

The  two  friends  still  remain  neighbors  on  their 
adjoining  farms.  Mr.  Atway,  in  his  advancing  years, 
has  given  up  the  management  of  affairs  mostly  to 
Chase.  Mr.  Lankton  is  dead,  and  the  shiftless  old 
farm  has  become  neat  and  thrifty  in  Worth's  hands. 


THE  END. 


The  Silver  Medal  Stories 

By  J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE 


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The  Silver  Medal,  and  other  Stories. 

There  were  some  schoolboys  who  had  turned  housebreakers,  and  among 
their  plunder  was  a  silver  medal  that  had  been  given  to  one  John  Harris  > 
by  the  Humane  Society  for  rescuing  from  drowning  a  certain  Benton 
Barry.  Now  Benton  Barry  was  one  of  the  wretched  housebreakers.  This  is 
the  summary  of  the  opening  chapter.  The  story  is  intensely  interesting  in 
its  serious  as  well  as  its  humorous  parts. 

His  Own  Master. 

"  This  is  a  book  after  the  typical  boy's  own  heart.  Its  hero  is  a  plucky 
young  fellow,  who,  seeing  no  chance  for  himself  at  home,  determines  to 
make  his  own  way  in  the  world.  ...  He  sets  out  accordingly,  trudges  to  the 
far  West,  and  finds  the  road  to  fortune  au  unple&sancly  rough  one."— Phil- 
adelphia Inquirer. 

Bound  in  Honor. 

This  story  is  of  a  lad,  who,  though  not  guilty  of  any  bad  action,  has  been 
an  eyewitness  of  the  conduct  of  his  comrades,  and  felt  "  Bound  in  Honor 
not  to  tell. 

"  A  capital  book  in  all  resDects,  overflowing  with  all  sorts  of  fun  and 
adventure;  just  the  sort  of  book,  in  short,  that  the  young  folks  will  be 
anxious  to  read  and  ..-e-read  with  as  much  continuous  interest  as  the  most 
favored  of  their  story oooks."— Philadelphia  Leader. 

The  Pocket  Rifle. 

"A  bov's  story  which  will  be  read  with  avidity,  as  it  ought  to  be,  it  is  so 
brightly  and  frankly  written,  and  with  such  evident  knowledge  of  the  tem- 
peraments and  habits,  the  friendships  and  enmities  of  schoolboys."  —  New 
York  Mail. 

"  This  is  a  capital  story  for  boys.  It  teaches  honesty,  integrity,  andfriend- 
Ship,  and  how  best  they  can  be  promoted,  it  shows  the  danger  of  hasty 
judgment  and  circumstantial  evidence  ;  that  right-doing  pay3,  and  dishon- 
esty never." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

The  Jolly  Rover. 

"  This  book  will  help  to  neutraliza  the  ill  effects  of  any  poison  which  chil- 
dren may  have  swallowed  in  the  way  of  sham-adventurous  stories  and  wildly 
fictitious  tales.  «  The  Jollv  Rover  '  runs  away  from  home,  and  meets  life  as 
it  is  till  he  i<*  glad  enough  to  seek  again  his  father's  house.  Mr.  Trowbridge 
has  the  power  of  making  an  instructive  story  absorbing  in  .ts  interest,  and 
of  covering  a  moral  so  that  it  is  easy  to  take."—  Christian  Intelligencer. 

tfOUtlg  Joe,    AND   OTHER    BOYS. 

"  "  Young  Joe,"  who  lived  at  Bass  Cove,  where  he  shot  wild  ducks,  took 
gome  to  Town  for  sale,  and  attracted  the  attention  of  a  portly  gentleman 
fond  of  shooting.  Th/s  gentleman  went  duck  shooting  with  Joe,  and  their 
adventures  were  more  amusing  to  the  boy  than  to  the  amateur  sportsman. 
there  are  thirteen  other  short  stories  in  the  book  which  will  be. sure  to 
please  the  young  folks. 

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The  Tide-Mill  Stories 

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Phil  and  His  Friends. 

The  her*  is  the  son  of  a  man  who  from  drink  got  into  debt,  «nd,  after  hav- 
ing given  a  paper  to  a  creditor  authorizing  him  to  keep  the  son  as  a  se- 
curity for  his  claim,  ran  away,  leaving  poor  Phil  a  bond  slave.  The  story 
involves  a  great  many  unexpected  incidents,  some  of  which  are  painiul  and 
some  comic.  Phil  manfully  works  for  a  year  cancelling  his  father's  debt, 
and  then  escapes.  The  characters  are  strongly  drawn,  and  the  story  is  ab- 
sorbingly interesting. 

The  Tinkham  Brothers'  Tide-Mill. 

"  '•  The  Tinkham  Brothers  '  were  the  devoted  sons  of  an  invalid  mother.  The 
story  tells  how  they  purchased  a  tide-mill,  which  afterwards,  by  the  ill-will 
and  obstinacy  of  neighbors,  became  a  source  of  much  trouble  to  them.  It 
tells  also  how,  by  discretion  and  the  exercise  of  a  peaceable  spirit,  they  at 
last  overcame  all  dithoulties."  —  Christian  Observer,  Louisville,  Ky. 

The  Satin=wood  Box. 

"  Mr.  Trowbridge  has  always  a  purpose  in  his  writings,  and  this  time  lie 
has  undertaken  to  show  how  very  near  an  innocent  boy  can  come  to  the 
guilty  edge  and  yet  be  able  by  fortunate  circumstances  to  rid  himself  of  ail 
suspicion  of  evil.  There  is  something  winsome  about  the  hero  ;  but  he  has 
a  singular  way  of  falling  into  bad  luck,  although  the  careful  reader  will 
never  feel  the  least  disposed  to  doubt  his  honesty."  —  Syracuse  Standard. 

The  Little  Master. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  schoolmaster,  his  trials,  disappointments,  and  final 
victory,  it  will  recall  to  many  a  man  cis  experience  in  teaching  pupils,  and 
in  managing  their  opinionated  and  self-willed  parents.  The  story  has  the 
charm  which  is  always  found  in  Mr.  Trowbridge's  works. 

"  Many  a  teacher  could  profit  by  reading  of  this  plucky  little  school- 
master." —  Journal  of  Education. 

His  One  Fault. 

M  As  for  the  hero  of  this  story  c  His  One  Fault '  was  absent-mindedness. 
He  forgot  to  lock  his  uncle's  stable  door,  and  the  horse  was  stolen.  In 
seeking  to  recover  the  stolen  horse,  he  unintentionally  stole  another.  In 
trying  to  restore  the  wrong  horse  to  his  rightful  owner,  he  was  himself  ar- 
rested. After  no  end  of  comic  and  dolorous  adventures,  he  surmounted  all 
his  misfortunes  by  downright  pluck  and  genuine  good  feeling.  It  is  a  noble 
contribution  to  juvenile  literature."  —  Woman's  Journal. 

Peter  Budstone. 

•'Mr.  J.  T.  Trowbridge's  'Peter  Budstone'  is  another  of  those  altogether 

good  and  wholesome  books  for  boys  of  which  it  is  hardly  possible  to  speak  too 
ighly.  This  author  shows  us  convincingly  how  juvenile  reading  may  be 
made  vivacious  and  interesting,  and  yet  teach  sound  and  clean  lessons. 
'Peter  Budstone  '  shows  forcibly  the  folly  and  crime  of  '  hazing.'  It  is  the 
story  of  a  noble  young  fellow  whose  reason  is  irreparably  overthrown  by 
the  savage  treatment  he  received  from  seme  of  his  associates  at  college. 
It  is  a  powerful  little  book,  and  we  wish  every  schoolboy  and  college  youth 
could  read  it." — Philadelphia  American. 


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THE    START    IN    LIFE    SERIES 

By  J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE 

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A  Start  in  Life  :  a  story  of  the 

Genesee  Country. 

In  this  story  the  author  recounts  the  hard- 
ships of  a  young  lad  in  his  first  endeavor  to 
start  out  for  himself.  It  is  a  tale  that  is  full 
of  enthusiasm  and  budding  hopes. 


Biding  His  Time* 


"It  is  full  of  spirit  and  adventure,  and 
presents  a  plucky  hero  who  was  willing  to 
'bide  his  time,'  no  matter  how  great  the 
expectations  that  he  indulged  in  from  his 
uncle's  vast  wealth,  which  he  did  not  in  the 
least  covet."  — Boston  Home  Journal. 

The  Kelp- Gatherers  :  a  story  of  the  Maine  coast. 

A  bright  and  readable  story,  with  all  the  hints  of  character  and  thfl 
vicissitudes  of  human  life,  in  depicting  which  the  author  is  an  acknowl- 
edged master. 

The  Scarlet  Tanager,  and  other  bipeds. 

Every  new  story  which  Mr.  Trowbridge  begins  is  followed  through 
successive  chapters  by  thousands  who  have  read  and  re-read  many  times 
his  preceding  tales.  One  of  his  greatest  charms  is  his  absolute  truthful- 
ness.     He  does  not  depict  little  saints,  or  incorrigible  rascals,  but  just&ytf. 


The  Lottery  Ticket* 


"This  is  one  of  the  many  popular  stories  written  by  this  well-known 
author,  whose  name  on  the  title-page  of  a  book  makes  it  a  welcome  arrival 
to  most  of  the  young  people  who  read.  The  moral  is  always  good,  the 
influence  in  the  right  direction,  and  the  characters  so  portrayed  that  the 
right  is  always  rewarded  and  the  wrong  fails  to  prosper."  —  Dubuque, 
Iowa,  Herald. 

The  Adventures  of  David  Vane  and  David  Crane. 

A  strong,  homely,  humorous  story  of  the  everyday  life  of  American 
country-bred  boys,  by  one  who  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  living  stor\ 
teller  in  his  peculiar  vein. 

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The  Toby  Trafford  Series 


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By  J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE 


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The  Fortunes  of  Toby  Trafford. 

"A  new  story  by  J.  T.  Trowbridge,  is,  like  all  Mr.  Trowbridge's  fiction,  the 
good  wine  that  needs  no  bush.  The  plot  is  full  of  interest,  and  is  still  so 
natural  that  it  all  might  happen  in  a  thousand  places.  Its  scenes  and  its 
people  are  everywhere;  only  few  writers  have  Trowbridge's  eyes  to  see 
them.  The  hero  is  not  an  impossibly  good  boy,  but  he  has  manly  instincts  ; 
and  he  is  kept  from  follies  and  mistakes  by  the  counsels  of  an  excellent 
mother,  and  of  his  wise  and  noble-hearted  schoolmaster.  Boys  will  follow 
his  career  and  his  good  and  bad  fortune  with  genuine  interest." — Boston 
Budget. 

Father  Brighthopes  ;  An  Old  Clergyman's  Vacation. 

"  To  the  many  friends  which  this  book  will  doubtless  gain  it  may  be  well 
to  say  that  Father  Brighthopes  of  the  story  gains  that  cheery  name  by  his 
readiness  to  always  see  the  bright  and  not  the  dark  side  of  any  difficulty, 
great  or  small.  The  few  weeks  which  he  spent  with  his  friends,  the  Roy- 
dons,  wrought  a  change  in  their  daily  life  as  marked  as  it  was  pleasant.  The 
writings  of  Trowbridge  are  too  well  known  to  require  comment,  since  almost 
everyone  is  familiar  with  his  straightforward,  simple  style,  underlying 
which  there  is  not  a  little  humor  as  well  as  pathos." — Chicago  Times. 

Woodie  Thorpe's  Pilgrimage,  and  other  Stories. 

"  The  scenes  are  full  of  human  interest  and  lifelikeness,  and  will  please 
many  an  old  reader,  as  well  as  the  younger  folks,  for  whose  delectation  it  is 
intended.  As  in  all  the  books  of  this  author  the  spirit  is  manly,  sincere, 
and  in  the  best  sense  moral.  There  is  no  "goody"  talk  and  no  cant,  but 
principles  of  truthfulness,  integrity,  and  self-reliance  are  quietly  inculcated 
by  example.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  any  boy  will  be  the  better  for  reading 
books  like  this." — St.  Botolph. 


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The  Trowbridge  Novels 

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Neighbor  Jackwood.      New  Revised  Edition,  with  Autobio- 
graphical Chapter. 
"  It  sparkles  with  wit,  it  is  liquid  with  humor,  it  has  the  unmistakable 
tou  h  of  nature,  and  it  has  a  procession  of  characters  like  a  novel  of  bcott ; 
indeed,  in  many  ways  it  recalls  that  great  master."  —John  Burroughs. 

Neighbor's  Wives.  , 

"A  new  edition  of  one  of  the  most  successful  of  this  favorite  author  s 
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in  earlier  editions,  and  to  those  who  now  give  it  their  first  reading  it  will 
yield  delightful  entertainment,  and  unfold  lessons  that  will  live  long  in  the 
memory."  —  Gospel  Banner. 

Coupon  Bonds. 

" '  Coupon  Bonds '  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  best  stories  ever  published 
in  this  country.  It  is  a  most  happy  and  felicitous  stroke.  It  is  brim- 
ful of  the  very  best  quality  of  humor,  — the  humor  that  grows  naturally 
out  of  the  character  and  the  situation,  and  it  moves  along  briskly,  without 
any  urging  or  pushing  by  the  author.  It  is  full  of  incident,  full  ot  charac- 
ter, full  of  novel  and  ludicrous  surprises  and  situations.'  —  bcntmer  $ 
Monthly. 

Cudjo's  Cave. 

"  This  is  one  of  Mr.  Trowbridge's  best  stories.  His  readers  are  accus- 
tomed to  plenty  of  lively  incidents  and  exciting  adventures,  and  in  this 
volume  the  supply  is  surely  abundant.  The  story  opens  with  the  struggle 
of  a  Quaker  schoolmaster  in  Tennessee  previous  to  the  opening  of  the  late 
war,  and  the  exciting  scenes  attendant  upon  the  opening  of  the  great 
struggle  between  the  North  and  South  are  portrayed  in  a  graphic  manner 
*  Cudjo's  Cave  '  is  a  book  to  make  a  favorable  impression." —  Capital. 

Three  Scouts. 

This  story  is  a  companion  to  "  Cudjo's  Cave  "  and  "  The  Drummer  Boy," 
in  being  a  narrative  of  stormy  events  in  the  Civil  War,  when  the  army  of 
the  Cumberland,  under  Rosecrans,  and  the  Confederate  forces,  under 
Bragg,  were  battling  with  each  other  in  1862.  Yet  it  is  complete  in  itself  as 
a  story. 

The  Drummer  Boy.    Illustrated. 

The  author  of  this  book  is  so  famous  as  a  story -writer  that  another  ex- 
cellent one  is  only  what  all  his  readers  expect.  It  is  a  story  of  the  late  war, 
and  of  a  boy  who  went  into  the  army  as  a  drummer,  and  who,  from  the  good 
instructions  of  a  fond  and  noble  mother,  sought  to  impart  to  his  rude  and 
reckless  companions  some  of  the  good  of  his  own  character. 

Farneii's  Folly. 

All  the  sterling  qualities  which  have  placed  Mr.  Trowbridge  among 
the  foremost  o*  American  novelists  are  to  be  found  in  this  new  romance. 
It  is  not  a  short  story  or  series  of  sketches  that  may  be  "  devoured  "  in  an 
hour,  but,  as  the  number  of  its  pages  testify,  a  full-blooded  romance,  alive 
with  incident,  and  overflowing  with  interest. 

Martin  Merrivale:    His  X  Mark. 

This  story  of  New  England  life  abounds  in  passages  of  rare  humor  and 
pathos.  Not  even  in  "Coupon  Bonds"  nor  in  "Neighbor  Jackwood"  has 
Trowbridge  created  characters  better  fitted  to  give  him  enduring  fame. 
N<  one  can  read  the  story  without  seeing  that  the  author  has  put  his  whole 
soul  in  it. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  Of price* 
Our  Complete  Catalogue  sent  free. 

Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co*,  Boston 


THE  BOY  CRAFTSMAN 

Practical  and  Profitable  Ideas  for  a  Doy'i 
Leisure  Hours 

By  A.  NEELY  HALL 

Illustrated    with    over    400    diagrams     and 
working  drawings     8vo     Price,  $2.00 

EVERY  real  boy  wishes  to  design  and  make 
things,  but  the  questions  of  materials  and 
tools  are  often  hard  to  get  around.  Nearly  all 
books  on  the  subject  call  for  a  greater  outlay  of 
money  than  is  within  the  means  of  many  boys, 
or  their  parents  wish  to  expend  in  such  ways. 
In  this  book  a  number  of  chapters  give  sugges- 
tions for  carrying  on  a  small  business  that  will 
bring  a  boy  in  money  with  which  to  buy  tools 
and  materials  necessary  for  making  apparatus 
and  articles  described  in  other  chapters,  while 
the  ideas  are  so  practical  that  many  an  indus- 
trious boy  can  learn  what  he  is  best  fitted  for  in  his  life  work.  No  work 
of  its  class  is  so  completely  up-to-date  or  so  worthy  in  point  of  thorough- 
ness and  avoidance  of  danger.  The  drawings  are  profuse  and  excellent, 
and  every  feature  of  the  book  is  first-class.  It  tells  how  to  make  a  boy's 
workshop,  how  to  handle  tools,  and  what  can  be  made  with  them;  how 
to  start  a  printing  shop  and  conduct  an  amateur  newspaper,  how  to 
make  photographs,  build  a  log  cabin,  a  canvas  canoe,  a  gymnasium,  a 
miniature  theatre,  and  many  other  things  dear  to  the  soul  of  youth. 

We  cannot  imagine  a  more  -delightful  present  for  a  boy  tnan  this  book. — 
Churchman,  N.  T. 

Every  boy  should  have  this  book.  It's  a  practical  book  — it  gets  right  next  to 
the  boy's  heart  and  stays  there.  He  will  have  it  near  him  all  the  time,  and  on  every 
page  there  is  a  lesson  or  something  that  will  stand  the  bov  in  good  need.  Beyond 
a  doubt  in  its  line  this  is  one  of  the  cleverest  books  on  the  market.  —  Prov idence 
News, 

If  a  boy  has  any  sort  of  a  mechanical  turn  of  mind,  his  parents  should  see  that 
he  has  this  book  —Boston  Journal. 

This  is  a  book  that  will  do  boys  good.  —  Buffalo  Express. 

The  boy  who  will  not  find  this  book  a  mine  of  joy  and  profit  must  be  queerly 
constituted.  —  Pittsburgh  Gazette. 

Will  be  a  delight  to  the  boy  mechanic.  —  Watchman,  Boston. 

An  admirable  book  to  give  a  boy.  —  Newark  News. 

This  book  is  the  best  yet  offered  for  its  large  number  of  practical  and  profitable 
ideas.  —  Milzvaukee  Free  Press. 

Parents  ought  to  know  of  this  book.  —  New   Tork  Globe. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  publishers, 

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PHILLIPS     EXETER     SERIES 
By  A.  T.   DUDLEY 

Cloth,   l2mo     Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland     Price  per  volume,  $1.25 


FOLLOWING  THE  BALL 

HERE  is  an  up-to-date  story  presenting  American  boarding-school  life 
and  modern  athletics.  Of  course  football  is  an  important  feature, 
but  this  is  far  more  than  a  football  book.  It  is  a  story  of  character  forma- 
tion told  in  a  most  wholesome  and  manly  way.  In  this  development  ath- 
letics play  an  important  part,  to  be  sure,  but  are  only  one  feature  in  carry- 
ing the  hero,  "  Dick  Melvin,"  on  to  a  worthy  manhood. 

"  Mingled  with  the  story  of  football  is  another  and  higher  endeavor,  giving  the 
book  the  best  of  moral  tone."—  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

MAKING  THE  NINE 

THIS  story  is  lively  and  worth  telling,  and  the 
life  presented  is  that  of  a  real  school,  inter- 
esting, diversified,  and  full  of  striking  incidents, 
while  the  characters  are  true  and  consistent  types  of 
American  boyhood  and  youth.  The  athletics  are 
technically  correct,  abounding  in  helpful  sugges- 
tions, soundly  and  wisely  given,  and  the  moral  tone 
is  high  and  set  by  action  rather  than  preaching. 

"  The  story  is  healthful,  for,  while  it  exalts  athletics,  it 
does  not  overlook  the  fact  that  studious  habits  and  noble 
character  are  imperative  needs  for  those  who  would  win 
success  in  life."  —  Herald  and  Presbyter ',  Cincinnati. 


IN  THE  LINE 

TELLS  how  a  stalwart  young  student  won 
his  position  as  guard,  and  at  the  same  time 
made  equally  marked  progress  in  the  formation 
of  character.  It  introduces  the  leading  argu- 
ments for  and  against  football  in  connection 
with  the  difficulties  to  be  overcome  before  the 
hero's  father  finally  consents  to  allow  his  son  to 
represent  his  academy  in  this  way. 

*'  The  book  gives  boys  an  interesting  story,  much 
football  information,  and  many  lessons  in  true  manli- 
ness. " —  Watchman,  Boston. 


ES3SE 


INTH^UNE 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid   on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publishers, 

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JACKTENFIELD'S 
STAR. 


MARTHA  ^m^s 


J 


JACK  TENFIELD'S  STAR 

By  Martha  James    Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland     Large  i2mo     $1.00 

ACK  TENFIELD  is  a  bright  Boston  boy,  who, 
while  preparing  for  college,  is  brought  to  face 
the  fact  that  his  father,  a  benevolent  physi- 
cian, and  supposed  to  be  well-to-do,  had  really 
left  no  estate.  Jack  resolutely  defends  his 
father's  memory,  and  makes  the  best  of  it.  Cir- 
cumstances bring  much  travel  and  many  adven- 
tures, in  all  of  which  his  generous,  manly 
character  rings  true.  That  Jack  is  capable  of 
being  his  "own  star''  well  expresses  the  ex- 
cellent thought  of  the  book,  which  is  remarkable 
for  variety  of  well-told  incidents. 

"  A  clean,  wholesome,  enjoyable  book." —  The  Amer* 
ican  Boy,  Detroit,  Mich. 


Tom  Winstone,  "Wide  A»vake" 

Ey  Martha  James   Large  i2mo   Illustrated  by  W.  Herbert  Dunton    $1.00 

WE  have  often  wished  that  we  could  secure  a  book  for  boys  like  the 
undying  ones  written  by  J.  T.  Trowbridge,  and  in  u  Tom  Win- 
stone"  we  have  a  young  hero  whose  story  is  told  in  a  way  well  worthy 
to  be  compared  with  the  work  of  the  older  writer  referred  to.  The 
sterling  quality  shown  in  "  My  Friend  Jim"  is  all  here,  and  "Tom,"  an 
older  boy,  equally  efficient  in  baseball,  a  foot  race,  or  a  noble  action,  is 
well  worth  knowing. 
*'  Any  healthy  boy  will  delight  in  this  book."—  Livitig  Church,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

My  Friend  Jim 

A  Story  of  Real  Boys  and  for  Them 

By  Martha  James  Large  i2rno  Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill  $1.00 
JUST  the  book  to  place  in  the  hands  of 
bright,  active  boys,  and  one  that  the 
most  careful  parents  will  be  glad  to  use 
for  that  purpose.  The  loyal  friendship 
springing  up  between  Jim,  the  son  of  a  me- 
chanic, and  a  wealthy  man's  son  who  is  at 
Sunnyside  farm  for  his  health,  has  made  the 
basis  for  some  of  the  cleanest,  brightest,  and 
most  helpful  descriptions  of  boy  life  that  we 
have  ever  read. 

••  It  is  a  book  that  boys  will  like  and  profit  by." 
—  Universal ist  Leader ,  Boston. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publishers, 

UOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO.,  BOSTON 


TWO  YOUNG  INVENTORS 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  FLYING   BOAT 


TWO  YOUNG 
INVENTORS 

ALVAH  MILTON  KERR 


Illus- 


By  ALVAH   MILTON  KERR 
trated     $1.25 

HERE  is  a  rattling  good  story;  a  tale  of 
mystery,  mechanism,  and  getting  on  in 
the  world  that  will  be  a  boy's  favorite  for  years. 
Two  youths,  both  born  inventors,  make  each 
other's  acquaintance  as  a  result  of  misfortunes 
attending  a  Minnesota  cyclone.  Their  efforts  to 
perfect  a  flying-boat  that  shall  not  only  skim  the 
water,  but  rise  into  the  air,  result  in  the  securing 
of  a  mechanical  education.  Mr.  Kerr  has 
solved  the  problem  of  a  book  that  shall  be 
intensely  exciting  and  yet  thoroughly  wholesome. 

"The  ingenuity  and  pluck  of  these  two  worthy  heroes  supply  just  the  right 
material  for  the  encouragement  of  ambitious  youth."  —  Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  book  is  full  of  life,  incident,  and  stirring  success."  —  Watchman,  Boston. 

"  The  bonk  is  deeply  interesting,  at  times  intensely  exciting,  and  yet  thoroughly 
clean  and  wholesome  throughout."  —  Portland  Express. 

YOUNG  HEROES  Of  WIRE  AND  RAIL 


By  ALVAH  MILTON   KERR     Illus- 
trated    i2mo     Cloth     $1.25 

THE  place  which  the  sea  once  held  in  sup- 
plying thrilling  tales  of  heroism  and  peril 
is  now  being  largely  usurped  by  that  powerful 
agent  of  progress,  the  railway  service,  and  with 
no  lessening  of  interest.  It  is  also  very  attrac- 
tive to  know  how  those  who  bear  the  vast 
responsibilities  of  this  service  perform  their 
work  and  meet  the  fearful  emergencies  that 
may  arise  at  any  time. 

"  The  tone  of  the  work  is  healthful  and  inspiring."  — 
Boston  Herald. 

"They  are  calculated  to  inspire  boys  to  become  manly, 
contain  considerable  valuable  information."  —  Newark  News. 

"An  ideal  book  for  a  younir  boy  is  'Young  Heroes   of  Wire  and  Rail.'"  — 
Episcopal  Recorder,  Philadelphia. 


and  incidentally  tney 


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by  the  publishers, 

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THE  GREGORY  GUARDS 


A 


h 


THE  YOUNG 
VIGILANTES 


By  Emma  Lee  Benedict     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill     i2mo     $1.25 

YOUNG  man  of  wealth  is  trustee  for  a 
fund  to  help  boys  and  chooses  six  to  pass 
the  summer  at  his  home  on  an  island  near  New 
York.  These  lads  of  widely  different  tempera- 
ments in  true  boy  fashion  form  a  "club," 
whose  highest  purpose  it  is  to  watch  over  the 
property  and  interests  of  their  benefactor,  and 
to  which  they  give  his  name.  All  profit  in  great 
measure  from  a  summer  that  is  a  turning  point  in 
their  lives.  A  story  of  reaping  good  by  doing 
good,  bright  and  entertaining  and  full  of  life, 
incident,  and  good  sense. 

"  It  is  a  story  aloi.g  novel  lines,  and  may  be  warmly 
commended." — St.  Louis  Globe. Democrat. 

TKe  Young    Vigilantes 

A  Story  of  California  Life  in  the  Fifties 

By  Samuel  Auams  Drake     Illustrated  by  L.  J. 
Bridgman     Price  $1.25 

FEW  men  now  remain  who  can  describe  the 
"Forty-Niners "  from  personal  knowledge 
and  experience,  and  the  very  best  one  of  them 
is  the  noted  historical  writer,  Col.  Drake.  One 
of  two  young  chums  in  Boston  yields  to  the  ex- 
citement of  the  day  and  goes  to  California,  partly 
at  his  friend's  expense.  Later,  the  hero  of  the  story 
is  driven  by  injustice  to  make  his  way  thither  via 
the  route  across  Nicaragua,  befriended  by  an  old 
sailor.  A  reunion  and  exciting  experiences  in  San 
Francisco  follow. 

"  The  book  is  a  bright,  able,  and  wholesome  contribution  to  the  knowledge  of 
our  country's  progress."  —Religious  Telescope,  Dayton,  O. 

Joe's    Signal    Code 

By  W.  Reiff  Hesser     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill     $1.25 

THIS  book  tells  of  the  abandoning  of  a  fine  ship  with  its  cargo  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean.  The  leading  characters,  who  are  to  leave  in  the  last 
boat,  had  their  escape  cut  off  by  its  destruction,  but  succeed  in  saving  the 
ship  and  lead  a  most  interesting  life  for  more  than  a  year  on  a  hitherto 
unknown  island. 

"  The  boys  will  enjoy  it  from   cover  to  cover.    The  book  is  many  degrees  above 
the  ordinary  story."  —  American  Boy,  Detroit. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publishers, 

LOTHROP,    LEE    &    SHEPARD    CO.,    BOSTON 


-SAMUEL. 
ADAMS       N 
n\AKE. 


Making    of     Our    Nation     Series 

By  WILLIAM  C.  SPRAQUE 

Large  i2tno,  Cloth  Illustrated  by  A.   B.   Shute 

Price  per  volume,  $1.50 

The    Boy   Courier   of  Napoleon 

A   Story  of   the   Louisiana   Purchase 

WILLIAM  C.  SPRAGUE,  the  notably  suc- 
cessful editor  of  "The  American  Boy," 
has  given  for  the  first  time  the  history 
of  the  Louisiana  Purchase  in  entertaining  story 
form.  The  hero  is  introduced  as  a  French 
drummer  boy  in  the  great  battle  of  Hohenlinden. 
He  serves  as  a  valet  to  Napoleon  and  later  is 
sent  with  secret  messages  to  the  French  in  San 
Domingo  and  in  Louisiana.  After  exciting  ad- 
ventures he  accomplishes  his  mission  and  is 
present  at  the  lowering  of  the  Spanish  flag,  and 
later  at  that  of  the  French  and  the  raising  of 
the  Stars  and  Stripes. 


"All  boys  and  girls  of  our  country  who  read  this  book  will  be  delighted  with  it, 
as  well  as  benefited  by  the  historical  knowledge  contained  in  its  pages." — Louis- 
ville,  Ky.%   Times. 

"An  excellent  book  for  boys,  containing  just  enough  history  to  make  them  hunger 
for  more.     No  praise  of  this  book  can  be  too  high." — Town  Topics,  Cleveland,  O. 

"This  book  is  one  to  fascinate  every  intelligent  American  boy." — Buffalo  Times. 

The   Boy   Pathfinder 

A  Story  of  the  Oregon  Trail 

THIS  book  has  as  its  hero  an  actual  character, 
George  Shannon,  a  Pennsylvania  lad,  who 
at  seventeen  left  school  to  become  one  of 
the  Lewis  and  Clark  expedition.  He  had  nar- 
row escapes,  but  persevered,  and  the  story  of 
his  wanderings,  interwoven  with  excellent  his- 
torical information,  makes  the  highest  type  of 
general  reading  for  the  young. 

"It  is  a  thoroughly  good  story,  full  of  action  and 
adventure  and  at  the  same  time  carrying  a  bit  of  real 
history  accurately  recorded." — Universalist  Leader, 
Boston. 

"It  is  an  excellent  book  for  a  boy  to  read." — New- 
ark,  N.  J.,  Advertiser. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  seat  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  publishers 

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BOOKS    BY  EVERETT  T.  TOMLINSON. 


THE  WAR  OF  1812  SERIES 


Six  volumes    Cloth    Illustrated  by  A.  R 
Shute    Price  per  volume  reduced  to  $1.25 

No  American  writer  for  boys  has  ever  occupied 
a  higher  position  than  Dr.  Tomlinson,  and  the 
"War  of  1812  Series"  covers  a  field  attempted 
by  no  other  juvenile  literature  in  a  manner  that 
has  secured  continued  popularity. 

The  Search  for  Andrew  Field 
The  Boy  Soldiers  of  1812 
The  Boy  Officers  of  1812 
Tecumseh's  Young  Braver 
Guarding  the  Border 
The  Boys  with  Old  Hickory 


ST.  LAWRENCE  SERIES 

CRUISING    IN  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE 

Being  the  third  volume  cf  the  "St.  Lawrence  Series"     Cloth 

Illustrated    Price  $1.50 

Our  old  friends,  "  Bob,"  "  Ben,"  « Jock,"  and  "  Bert,"  having  completed 
their  sophomore  year  at  college,  plan  to  spend  the  summer  vacation  cruising 
on  the  noble  St.  Lawrence.  Here  they  not  only  visit  places  of_  historic  inter- 
est, but  also  the  Indian  tribes  encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  rive/,  and  learn 
from  them  their  customs,  habits,  and  quaint  legends. 

PREVIOUS   VOLUMES 

CAMPING  ON  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE 

Or,  On  the  Trail  of  the  Early  Discoverers 

Cloth    Illustrated    $1.50 

THE   HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE 

Or,  Following  Frontenac 

Oletfo    Illustrated    $x. 50 

BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

STORIES  OF  THE  AMERICAN    RFVOLUTIO^ 
Fitst  and  Second  Series    Cloth    Illustrated    $1.00  each 


Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  CoM  Boston 


W.  0.  STODDARD'S  BOOKS 

12mo    Cloth    Price  per  volume,  $1.25 

DAN  MONROE  :  A  Story  of  Bunker  Hill  Illustrated  by  W.  F.  Kennedy 
In  ihis  volume  the  hero  is  one  whose  name  is  found  in  several  trust- 
worthy records  as  the  drummer  boy  of  the  Lexington  militia,  his  closest 
friend,  Nat  Harrington,  being  the  fifer.  The  Concord  fight,  the  Battle  of 
Bunker  Hill,  and  the  arrival  of  Washington  are  introduced  as  parts  of  a 
carefully  preserved  historical  outline. 
L.ONG  BRIDGE   BOYS    Illustrated  by  I.  B.  Hazelton 

It  tells  the  story  of  an  actual  attempt  made  by  the  Confederates  of  Vir- 
ginia,  just  prior  to  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  to  seize  the  city  of 
Washington  by  force  of  arms,  and  make  prisoners  of  President  Lincoln 
and  other  high  government  officials. 
AHEAD  OF  THE  ARMY     Illustrated  by  C.  Chase  Emerson 

This  is  a  lively  narrative  of  the  experiences  of  an  American  boy  who 
arrives  in  Mexico  as  the  war  with  the  United  States  is  beginning. 

THE    ERRAND    BOY    OF    ANDREW    JACKSON:      A  War  Story  of 

18 12     Illustrated  by  Will  Crawford 

This  tale  is  of  the  War  of  1812,  and  describes  the  events  of  the  only  land 
campaign  of  1812-1814  in  which  the  Americans  were  entirely  successful. 
JACK  MORGAN:     A  Boy  of  1812     Illustrated  by  Will  Crawford 

It  is  the  adventures  of  a  boy  of  the  frontier  during  the  great  fight  that  Har- 
rison made  on  land,  and  Perry  on  the  lakes   for  the  security  of  the  border. 

THE    NOANK'S    LOG:      A  Privateer  of  the  Revolution      Illustrated  by 

Will  Crawford 

The  further  adventures  of  the  plucky  Guert  Ten  Eyck,  as  he  fought 
King  George  on  land  and  sea. 

THE   DESPATCH    BOAT  OF  THE   WHISTLE:    A  Story  of  Santiago 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 

A  breezy  story  of  a  newspaper  despatch  boat,  in  the  war  with  Spain. 
GUERT   TEN   EYCK     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 

A  hero  story  of  real  American  girls  and  boys,  in  the  American  Revolution. 
THE   PARTNERS    Illustrated  bv  Albert  Scott  Cox 

A  capital  story  of  a  bright,  go-ahead  country  girl  and  two  boys  who 
helped  her  keep  store. 
CHUCK   PURDY:    A  New  York  Boy    Illustrated 

A  delightful  story  of  boy  life  in  New  York  City. 
GID   GRANGER:    A  Country  Boy    Illustrated 

A  capital  story  of  American  life. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  bv  the  cublishers, 

LOTHROP,    LEE    &    SHEPARD    CO.,    BOSTOiN 


Young  Defender  Series 


By  ELBRIDGE  S.  BROOKS 


IN  DEFENCE  OF  THE  FLAG 

A  Boy's  Adventures  in  Spain  and  Cuba  in  the 
War  of  1898 

Illustrated  by  W.  F.  Stecher    i2mo   Cloth  $1.25 

A  STORY  of  action  and  adventure  such  as  all 
healthy  boys  like,  telling  of  a  plucky  young 
American  who  defended  his  country's  flag  against 
mobs  in  Spain  and  foemen  in  Cuba,  and  had  many 
thrilling  experiences. 

"Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  will  be  a  lucky  boy,  with  many  a  thrill  before  him, 
who  finds  this  book  in  his  Christmas  stocking.  Don  is  a  hero  after  every  boy's 
heart."  —  Boston  Herald. 

WITH  LAWTON  AND  ROBERTS 
A  Boy's  Adventures  in  the  Philippines  and  the  Transvaal 

Illustrated  by  C.  Chase  Emerson     i2mo     Cloth     $1.25 

THE  stirring  adventures  of  a  manly  American  boy  who  follows  Lawton 
in  his  last  campaigns,  and  by  a  singular  train  of  circumstances  has 
"moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field,"  in  two  wars,  with  American  soldiers, 
Filipino  insurrectos,  Malay  pirates,  English  troopers,  and  Boer  burghers. 
'*  Mr.  Brooks  presents  vivid  pictures  of  both  wars,  so  widely  separated.  His 
pa?es  are  full  of  the  swift-moving  incidents  which  boys  love.  Dull  indeed  must 
be  the  young  reader  whose  interest  flags."  —  Boston  Journal. 

UNDER  THE  ALLIED  FLAGS 

A   Boy's   Adventures   in   China  During  the   Boxer 
Revolt 

Illustrated  by  W.  F.  Stecher     i2mo     Cloth     $1.25 
'HE  stirring  story  of  an  American  boy's  adventures  in 
Tien  Tsin  and  Pekin,  in  the  ranks  of  the  Interna- 
tional  troops   and  as  one  of  the  defenders  of  the  be- 
leaguered legations.     Up  to-date,  absorbing,  and  full  of 
healthy  excitement.     Characters  who  are  in  the  stories 
"  With  Lawton  and  Roberts  "  and  "  In  Defence  of  the 
Flag  "   reappear  in  this  story. 
"  Men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  of  all  the  mingled  nationalities  that  made 
this  war  in  China  so  picturesque,  appear  in  the  story  and  give  it  vigor,  variety,  and 
unflagging  interest." —  Cleveland  World. 


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For  sale  by  all  booksellers  or   sent  postpaid   on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publishers, 

LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO.,  BOSTON 


Trov/bridge,   J,   T 


The   pocket-rifle 


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M520377 


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